US Route 285
by Percentile
Summary: Did you know it's a 60 mile drive from Denver to South Park?
1. I Just… Just Don't Know

Everyone had always joked about how me and Kyle were a little bit married. I guess it was all par for the course, you know? Two guys as close as we were just attracted all that shit. It's the way the world worked.

We didn't help ourselves, the way we acted, the way we squabbled, the things we did together, the amount of time we spent together. The way we were just always together. That's just how it was though, that's the way it was meant to be.

Kenny used to tease us all the time when we were in middle school, he'd tell us we just needed to fuck and be done with it, we just needed to admit our gay little crushes to each other. He didn't realise it wasn't going to be as simple as that. That two friends don't just fuck and deal with it. That when two friends fuck, they fuck up a friendship. That sometimes everything just isn't okay. That sometimes when friends fuck, they fall apart and loose it all.

Kenny muted off when we hit high school, I guess he lost interest in the joke. Cartman took over, his lewd suggestions carrying twice the venom with none of the mirth.

It was a long running joke with everyone though, with Craig and those guys, with random people about town, even with my fucking parents. I didn't care; it was just a joke. Kyle didn't care; he only ever reacted to it when Cartman was irritating him. It was just a fact of life, we were best friends, we were close, we were butt of all the gay jokes. We accepted it, hell, we even joked about it ourselves.

It had its detrimental elements, of course, Kyle and I and our odd little friendship marriage. Wendy hated it, she hated how I was a pseudo married to someone who wasn't her. Envy, jealously, they had always been Wendy's sins. She's a lovely person, one of the best people I know, but everyone has their faults. Those faults were hers. She dumped me because of it, she dumped me a few times because of it, but I never did anything about it, I never pushed Kyle away to get her back. I just waited for her to get over it, get over whoever she was with when she wasn't with me. Token, Gregory, whoever.

No, everyone always joked about me and Kyle, about how the only thing missing from our pseudo marriage was the sex. I never really took it seriously; Kyle was Kyle, that was that. He was my Super Best Friend, of course I loved him, I fucking adored him. Of course I thought he was wonderful, gorgeous, of course I sometimes told him so. Of course I'd bend over backwards for him, of course I'd follow him to another dimension and back. I'd drive him anywhere he asked and I'd wait up all night to buy him those tickets to that Raging Pussies concert he wanted to go to. He was my Super Best Friend, that's just what you do when you have a Super Best Friend. That's just what you do. That's what I reasoned anyway. That was my excuse.

I never ever really realised the realities of _actually _fucking him, I never really let myself think about it seriously before, not until that night. Not until I kissed him. I never realised the extent of what was happening, the truth behind my actions, the irony in all those jokes, not until it all slapped me across the face. Not until Kyle dangerously enlightened me.

Not until everything became an unsaid game of all or nothing.

Not until my world exploded around me.

Not until highway 285 changed my fucking life.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

XXX

XXX

XXX

"Hey dude, I brought you a present."

He snapped round, book thumping to his desk, all eager and exited at the promise of a gift. I just grinned down at him, clutching the slip behind my back.

"Did you buy me a puppy?"

"Dude, if I brought you a puppy your mother would castrate me."

"A kitten then?"

"You hate cats."

"But I like kittens."

"No, but you're kind of a little close. Try again."

Kyle frowned. "You didn't get me a fish did you? You know those things freak me out."

"Why the hell would I buy you a fish?"

"A rodent of some sorts? A Lemmiwinks?"

"Dude, no, I haven't brought you a pet. If you want one, I'll have to get you one for Hanukah or whatever."

"You have actually brought me something, right? You're not just being a douche and gifting me your algebra homework again?"

"I did that, like, one time. Get over it."

"You've done it at least five times."

"Well I'm not doing it this time. I have actually got you something, so guess."

"Give me a clue."

"You want it."

"I want a lot of things. I'm an awful, materialistic person. Give me a better clue."

Rolling my eyes I dropped the ticket in his lap, stepping back to sit on his bed. Smiling, I watched as he delicately held the paper, clutching at the sides as though it were a particularly precious photograph liable to smudge if he breathed on it too hard.

"Oh my God. I thought they were all sold out?"

"They are. I ordered them a while back. Thought I'd wait and surprise you."

"Standing as well." Kyle looked up at me, grinning brightly. He loved the Raging Pussies, even though they'd not been good for years, even though they weren't all that great to begin with, he loved them. I'm pretty sure he'll always love them, regardless of how shit they get. "God, you always get me the best presents Stan."

I just smiled at him, stretching out on his bed. "Just wear clothes this time, right? Don't go in just your underwear again."

"Why? What's wrong with me in my underwear? Should I be offended right now?"

"Of course not. Much as I'd love to watch you prance about semi-naked or whatever, I really don't want you freezing to death. It'd be awkward trying to explain what happened to your parents."

"I could wear a coat too."

"You'd go to a gig wearing Y-fronts and a coat? Dude, you'd look like a fucking serial killer."

"Perhaps that's the look I'm going for. Bebe told me serial killer is in this fall."

"Whatever dude, go naked for all I care. Just remember to lie to your parents this time. I think you're a bit too old to make a believable molestation victim."

"I'll have you know I'm still very molestable." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, pressing his thighs together, clutching his hands in his lap. He tried innocently batting his eyelashes at me, I just suppressed a snort. He did _look_ innocent, he naturally looked innocent, all stocky and short, pale and pinkish, honest faced with a gentle personality. He just couldn't _act_ innocent. Anytime he tried to act innocent he ended up destroying his natural innocence, inadvertently making himself seem painfully guilty.

"You're right Kyle, you are so very molestable. You have no idea how hard it is for me to restrain myself in your angelic presence." I deadpanned at him, watching as he tilted up his head, regally posing himself, as though he expected me to start revering him in some sort of Mannerist painting. He'd make a charming painters muse.

"Are the others coming?" He sat back properly, very gracelessly, breaking my train of thought.

"Fuck no. I'm not driving them down to Denver."

"Why?"

"Because Cartman's a massive dick, and if Kenny says one more thing about my car I'm going to do more then just ditch him on some highway, I swear to God."

Kyle smiled at me. "Your car _is_ a pile of shit, dude."

"At least I have a car. Fancy walking to the Pepsi Arena, Kyle?"

"You wouldn't make me walk. You know I don't like walking in the dark. You like me too much to make me walk."

I didn't suppress this snort. "You were always eager enough to prance about at night when we were kids. You're just being lazy; you know I'll give in and drive if you whine loud enough."

"I did a lot of stupid things when I was a kid. It's fucking _South Park _dude, enough shit happens in daylight; I don't want to push my luck waltzing about when the sun goes down. Besides, it's not like you ever say no when I ask you to drive me somewhere."

"I don't think I ever say no to you when you ask me to do anything. I've known you for, like, my whole fucking life dude. I think I've worked out by now you don't take no for an answer Kyle.

"I take no for an answer. Sometimes. When I need to."

"No you don't, not ever. Regardless, I'm not your personal chauffeur, no matter how much you treat me like it."

"You're kind of my personal chauffeur thought, like, a little bit, anyway."

I grimaced at him. "It wouldn't kill you to fucking walk sometimes, dude."

"It might! It's _fucking __South __Park_! For God's sake, Cartman could be lurking around any corner! Besides, I don't see what you're bitching about. It's not like I ever go anywhere without you."

"You cost me a fortune in petrol."

"Whatever, you don't care about that." He said it flippantly, swiping one hand through the air.

I sighed, a small smile quirking the corner of my lips. He was right; I didn't care about the small limb he was costing me in gas. I liked driving Kyle places, I liked having his company, I liked driving my car. I'm pretty sure the memories of my first car will be completely stained with Kyle. Hell, I'm pretty sure every memory of my entire wretched life will be fucking doused in Kyle.

"And dude? I want you to buy me a coral snake for Christmas."

I shuddered, haphazardly throwing a pillow at his head. "I'm not getting you a fucking snake for Christmas."

He grinned, all canines, all wild. "What if I promise to look after it real good?"

"What if I just refuse to enter your house again?"

"What if I'd like the peace and quiet?"

I quirked my eyebrows. "What if I take offence to that and decide to storm out of your house right now? Would you enjoy the peace and quiet then?"

Kyle just smiled, dropping himself down heavily on the mattress next to me. "What if I say thank you for my ticket?"

"Then I'd say you're very welcome." I paused "And I'm going to buy you a video game for Christmas, and you're going to like it."

"Dude, I'll fucking love it."

"Please Kyle, try to sound gayer."

He just leant back, grinning up at me. "You know you love it."

I looked down at him, a smile quirking my lips. "You know I do."

XXX

XXX

XXX

"Dude, I'm fucking bored."

"We set off ten minutes ago! It takes, like, an hour to get to Denver. You can't be bored already."

"Well I am. I'm fucking bored."

I sighed, pressing down the clutch as I gripped the gear stick. "Well put the radio on or something, I dunno."

"There's never anything on, not on the stations your shit-ass radio can pick up. It's all just generic crap music and boring old people talking about boring old shit."

"I thought you loved listening to boring old people talking about boring old shit? You talk about boring old shit all the time. It's like, your forte!"

He looked at me, all hurt and pouting. "You think I'm boring?"

"Only when you start talking about boring old shit."

"How often do I talk about boring old shit?"

"You have your moments."

"God Stan, you make me feel precious."

I snorted, taking my eyes off the road so I could give him an incredulous look. "You're head of the fucking debate club! Of course you talk about boring old shit. You argue about boring old shit. You argue about boring old shit better then anyone I've ever met. This can't be news to you Ky."

Kyle frowned, and I glanced back at the road. "You think my debates are boring?"

"What was your last debate about?"

"Should the Congressional practice of earmarking, whereby federal funds are allocated to particular projects at the request of individual Congressmen, be banned?" He recited, waving his hands about in a flippant gesture. I raised my eyebrows, glancing at him with a 'well there you go' look. Kyle just snorted, hitting my arm with the back of his hand. "Come on Stan, that debate was _interesting_."

"No, it wasn't. Two hours of my life and I still don't even understand the question."

"That's because you're stupid and you don't give a shit about politics."

"That's because all that political shit is almost as boring as you debating."

"Well if my debates are so boring, why the hell do you keep coming to them? No one's forcing you to go."

"I go because you come to every one of my boring football games, and a good deal of the boring practices too. I go to support you, Ky, no matter how boring supporting you gets. You're my best friend and shit, that's what we do."

"To be fair, I only go to your stupid practices because I know you'll drive me home afterwards. I don't really give a shit about you or anything, I just don't like taking the fucking bus. Butters always tries to talk to me. It gets irritating."

My lip quirked involuntarily. Kyle could be utterly tactless when he wanted to be. "You could always walk, you know." I said provocatively, casually changing lanes.

Kyle just whined, turning his face away from me. "God Stan, if you like walking so much why don't you just go on a fucking hike."

"Well, would you come with me?"

"Fuck no, don't be stupid. All that nature crap, that's your shtick."

"Hiking's no fun when you're on your own. And it's not like I can ask Wendy to come with me at the moment, not until we get back together again."

Kyle snorted derisively, crossing his arms. "So, take Sparky with you. He'd like a long walk."

I smiled sadly. "Sparky's getting a bit too old for hikes now."

Kyle bit his lip, glancing across at me. "Well, whatever." He paused, fidgeting slightly, "If you really want to go on a hike, I'll go with you on one when the vacation starts. Just, just don't go dragging me up any fucking mountains. Not again."

"But the mountain routes have the best views."

"I prefer the forestey trials. Those ones aren't so bad. They're flat, at least."

"Well, whatever. I like them both."

"I hate it when you guilt me into doing shit."

"I know you do, my little ray of sunshine, but you can't spend your entire life glued behind your PC."

"Shut up. I use a fucking Mac and you know it."

"Whatever."

Kyle just sighed at me, lifting up his legs, resting his feet on the dashboard in front of him. I frowned.

"Dude, take your fucking shoes off my dashboard."

"Why? I'm fucking comfy."

"You'll fucking scuff it up."

Kyle snorted, shoes still firmly glued to my dashboard. "God knows I wouldn't want to do anything to ruin the aesthetic appeal of your car Stan. It's such a beautiful, perfect machine, after all." He bit it back sarcastically, pulling his phone out his pocket as he did, absently pressing a few buttons.

"Off Kyle."

"I'm not a dog, you know. Barking commands at me won't work." He frowned slightly at his phone, so frowned slightly at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, carefully checking behind my shoulder as I merged onto the highway.

"Kenny's getting a bit snippy we didn't ask him to come. I think he feels left out."

"Tell Kenny I would've brought him along if he'd learnt to keep his big mouth shut. My car is not that bad, I swear to God."

"I'll tell Kenny you're an overemotional pussy, don't worry."

"Thanks Kyle."

"Dude, we're really fucking early. The concert doesn't start, for like, two and a half hours. Can we stop off to get something to eat? I'm fucking starving."

"Sure. What do you feel like? There's the Burger King, or would you rather the K.F.C?"

"I don't mind. Which would you like?"

"I honestly don't give a shit. You're hungry, you can choose."

"Can we go to K.F.C then?"

"Of course."

"Thanks dude."

Despite stopping for some food, we still arrived at the arena early. There were already quite a few cars already milling about though, and the carpark was filling up fast. Humming, I rounded a looping bend, came across an empty spot, and neatly swung into it. Next to me, Kyle whimpered.

"Oh, don't park here. I don't like this spot."

"What's wrong with this spot? This spot is fine."

"It's too _crowded_ in this part. Go park nearer the edge or next to a tree or something. It'll be easer to find the car afterwards."

"We'll find the car just fine. It's not as though it's a common model." I said it fairly proudly, brushing the steering wheel of my rusty old Chevvy. My _retro_ Chevvy.

"Well, not now, no. Last millennia I'm sure this model was all the rage. Now let's go park somewhere else. The dude parked next to me is too close to the line anyway. He's left no space for me to get out."

"Just open the door carefully and wriggle. You're not Cartman you know, you can fit out just fine."

"What if I don't want to fucking wriggle? Go park somewhere else."

"Oh, for God's sake Kyle, I'm not slave to every one of your fucking whims! This spot is fine. When you're the one driving, you can choose the spot."

He paused, looking at me all wide eyes and badly faked innocence. "You're not a slave to my every whim, I know. But can we park over there instead." He pointed, and paused for a heartbeat, just looking at me. "Please?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. He had me fucking whipped, he had me fucking whipped better then Wendy had ever had me whipped. He had me fucking whipped and he knew it. Thanking God Cartman wasn't here to watch this, I put the car in gear, I reversed out of the space, and I let him decide where we parked.

XXX

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XXX

We were shot high on the atmosphere, on adrenaline and endorphins, on the music and the people and simple _energy _of it all. It was nearly over, the set was coming to a close. Everything was accumulating, everything was pent up and ready.

We'd fought our way out of the main throng, out of the way of the pits and the crush, we were just hovering on the edge. Kyle was laughing, covered in beer and sweat and concert skank. He was ignoring the stage and looking at me, his eyes bright and gleaming. He was clutching at my arms and laughing. He was stunning, all high cheekbones, all regal and soft and strong and temperamental. His hair was sodden at the ends, it could've been sweat, beer, water, anything, everything; the weight of the liquid was too heavy, it was muting his manic poof, darkening up the colour.

He was damp all over, his t-shirt was slightly clinging, his jeans marked with wet splashes. He must be hot, or exited or nervous, he was sweating like a bitch.

And I was laughing too, laughing _with_ him, laughing _at_ him, his joy, his euphonium. Kyle hardly ever let himself go like this. He got angry at the drop of a hat, sure, he always had. It was easy enough to get him hissy and furious and lashing out. But to get him to release, unwind, to get him euphoric and laghing and excitable and shaking; that was rare. He was liberating when he was liberated, his freedom, his ecstasy, it was contagious. I felt it claw at me, grip me, urge me on; Kyle's energy, his blatant sex appeal, all of him, it was suffocating. I couldn't bear it.

So I kissed him, for some reason, some stupid, ridiculous, dangerous reason I crushed him against me, jarring our mouths together. For a second he was rigid, frozen, for a second I thought he was going to pull back or kick me or something. Then his hands were gripping my t-shirt, he was pulling himself closer, he was letting me invade his mouth deeper. One of my hands went to his back, hovering dangerously low. I tangled my other in his hair, clutching the messy, matted dampness, gripping his manic twists.

Someone wolf whistled, someone shouted, someone swore at us, neither of us reacted. Kyle's hands were now round my ribs, he was hugging me, pressing himself against me. I could feel the dampness of him, his warmth, the shapes and lines his body made.

And that kiss, God, it was excited, explosive, sloppy, damp. Kyle wasn't practiced, he wasn't rhythmical or flawless, he wasn't technically faultless, but Christ, he didn't need to be. The way his tongue swiped powerfully, wildly, the way he moved his mouth, the way he clutched and those slight, faint, moans, moans nearly lost in the din, moans I felt rather then heard. It was all perfect.

The music stopped, but we didn't. Around us the crowd was cheering, shouting, jostling, jeering. I just focused on Kyle, I focused on the kiss, on rubbing his back, on petting his hair. Then this massive dude slammed into me, tearing us apart, nearly bringing me down. He apologised drunkenly, holding both hands up and slurring over the racket, but it was too late, we were both being shuffled to the exit, swept away with the crowd.

The fresh air had brought us down, and the implication of what I'd done was slowly, painfully gripping my chest. Kyle looked blown, his eyes wide, his skin clammy and pale. He looked terrified. We walked in silence, fighting through crowds of people.

It took an age to find my car.

"Look, dude, I-"

He cut me off, shaking his head, pawing at the passenger side door handle. I bit my lip and looked down, unlocking the car, watching as he climbed in. For a moment I stood outside, I stood there and let myself panic. What if he never talked to me again? What if I'd ruined it? What if he hated me? Hated me for doing it?

What if I couldn't make this right?

Pinching the ridge of my nose, I took a few deep breaths, before climbing into the seat next to him. Kyle didn't acknowledge me. I glanced at him. I turned on the car, I glanced at him again. I clicked up the heater, I glanced at him again. I started to pull out, I forced myself to focus on the road. I didn't try talking again, I didn't want to push him. This was something I couldn't push. I'd screwed up, I should never have done that, have put him in that position. It was up to him now, up to him to decide whether he felt like talking, talking about it, or whether he wanted to break the silence to ignore it, pretend it hadn't ever _ever _happened.

But he didn't talk. Not one word. I got us out of the carpark, which seemed to take hours and hours, out of the aria, out of the concert rush, out of Denver. The road signs and traffic lights blurred past me, I'm pretty sure I ran a red light, ran a stop sign, broke the law at least five times. It was shit dumb luck I wasn't pulled over, it was even shitter, dumber luck I managed not to hurt anyone, run anything down, total my rustheap. Thank God it was too late for traffic on the main roads, thank God it was a quiet night in Denver.

We hit Route 285, and Kyle still hadn't said anything. My vision was blurred with fear, my legs shaking with stress. I nearly stalled the car sliding off the clutch countless times. My hands were gripping the steering wheel, gripping it so hard I could feel my knuckles turning white. It wasn't safe for me to be driving like this, so pent up, so hyped and hyper alert. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing. I tried to ignore it all, to focus on the road ahead and nothing but the road ahead.

It wasn't working. With him sitting there, so close. I could sense him, his warmth, his scent. His real scent, the scent almost completely hidden under the skank of the gig, cheap bear and bitter sweat, the obligatory, persistent second hand smoke. The silence between us was breaking my heart, choking me. I thought about putting on the radio, putting on one of those late night traffic shows or all night shitty music channels, anything to fill the cloying silence. I didn't though; if Kyle wanted the radio on, he'd turn it on. That's what I reasoned.

"Pull over!" He startled me, his sudden bark literally made me jump.

"Kyle, are you alr-"

"Fucking pull over!" He was speaking through gritted teeth.

I did. Just like I'd do anything he asked. I wasn't sure if I pulled off on a dirt track, or if I simply careered off-road into a field. Whatever I did, my car didn't like it, whining and chugging at me until I turned off the engine.

I'd expected Kyle to get out the car, to go throw-up in a bush and refuse to let me drive him home. Refuse to acknowledge me ever again. But no, he unbuckled his seatbelt, and I felt my chest begin to constrict, thinking he was leaving. Then he was gripping me, he was crawling across my gearstick, he was across my lap, straddling me.

He was heavy, heavier then I'd expected him to be. Forcing himself against me, I could feel him, every little bit of him, every curve and line and angle his body made. _Everything_. I could feel how warm he ran, how warm he was, how _excited _he was. He was shaking, quite badly shaking, I don't know if it was nerves or excitement or what, but I'd never seen him shake this bad. Automatically I put my hands on his hips, trying to reassure him, trying to physically keep him still.

Then we were kissing. We were furiously, angrily kissing. Harsher, faster, stronger then we had in the arena. He was grinding himself against me, bucking over my lap, and fuck, it was scintillating, _exciting_ in all the right ways. I dug my fingers into his hips, gripping him hard, so hard I'm sure it hurt. His hands were around my neck, clutching my shoulders, pawing, gripping me.

I jolted, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it up, trying to get it off. Briefly he pulled back, lithely wriggling out of the fabric, limber and agile, relentless. Then his hands were on my hem, forcing up the fabric, barley giving me time to lift my arms before he'd pulled it off, my hands banging against the fuzzy canopy of the car roof.

Before I'd managed to fully comprehend the situation, I felt him crush himself against me, skin on skin, he just kind of, slotted there, the slight curve of his stomach pushing against the dip below my ribs, his chest high against mine. Against my collarbone I could feel his heart beating, heavy and fast, faster even then mine, and that was a feat to be proud of.

Immediately I was gripping at him, clutching my hands round his ribs, his back, his thighs, whispering impossible, beautiful promises into his pale, damp skin, peppering him with kisses. He was groaning as I stroked him, whimpering, clutching me right back. I was nuzzling him, pawing his strong thighs, rubbing his sides, massaging his kidneys, my fingers ghosting over the faint ridge of his scar. Kyle was clutching my upper arms, kissing down my neck, wriggling about on top of me.

Catching the edge of his collarbone in a kiss, I began to nip at him, holding him still as I started to suck, firmly marking him, marking him with a reminder, proof, leaving some tangible evidence this _thing_ we were doing was really happening. Making sure he'd know it had too.

When his panting reached painful levels, he pulled away, brushing his forehead against mine, letting us both catch back our breaths. Blinking, I just looked at him, taking in his quaking, soft limbed form, smooth lines and pale, flushed skin, the slight shadow of fluff trailing down from his navel. He was watching me, all wide eyed, pink lips slightly parted, hands resting softly on my shoulders.

And God he was regal, royal, all perfect cheekbones and masculine delicacy and inherited curves. Evergreen eyes and manic hair, everything about him so familiar, so painfully familiar, but shirtless and panting, blown pupils and lusting, that was brand new. So perfectly shiny, so very brand new and so very lovely.

Slipping my hands round his back I pushed him against me, hugging him tightly, caressing his pale, shaking form. He made some innovative whining moany grunt sound, pushing his face against the crook of my neck, nipping at me, sucking at me, marking me right back. Groaning, I pushed a kiss against his shoulder, nipping him, hissing as he worked, leaving a bunch of perfectly bruising lovebites.

There really wasn't enough room for us to be doing this in the front seat of my retro car. His lower back was pushed against the steering wheel; I could feel the cold plastic biting at his tailbone. Reluctantly taking my hand off him, I began to grope down the side of my seat, looking for the adjusters. With a sudden jolt, one that broke Kyle's (perfectly eccentric) rhythm, nearly jarring him right off me, the seat jumped back, giving us that slip more room, making the whole process so much easier.

Slipping my hand back round him, I rubbed the spot the steering wheel had been biting, pressing a reassuring kiss against his chest.

"Thank you." He was whispering it directly into my ear, his warm breath painfully arousing.

"You okay?" I pecked his neck, tracing kisses up to his jaw.

"Yeah."

Then we were attacking each other within a kiss again, and I was tugging at his jeans, yanking them down, desperate to free him. And he was pawing my crotch right back, catching me, causing me to whimper some random, pathetic promises. We managed to free each other, free ourselves, strip right down to naked (which was hard to do in such a boxy fucking car, but fuck were we determined).

Holding him steady with one hand, I lunged down the side of my seat, searching about in my door's compartment, pulling up some cheap hand cream.

"Dude?" he was panting, exited and reenergised, rearing and ready. I just continued to grip at him, sitting back up straight. "Why the fuck do you have hand cream in your car? That's kinda gay."

I'm sure that statement would have held more weight had he not been straddling me in a _very fucking_ _gay_ way during its delivery, but I didn't point this out. Lord knows I didn't want to say anything that would make him _stop_.

"My mom brought it for me. The cars heaters make my hands dry."

Kyle smirked. He was gorgeous. "How manly."

I quirked an eyebrow. "We can try do this without it, if you want? It'll fucking kill."

Kyle hesitated, glancing down at me, his hands clutching my shoulders. "I'm pretty sure this'll hurt no matter what."

Biting my lip, I cupped his chin, gently stroking his cheek. "If you want to stop, just say so, yeah? No worries."

"God no! I'm okay, just-just…"

"I'll know. I'll be careful, yeah? Please, don't worry."

He nodded, catching me in another kiss. I lifted one leg up, bracing it against the dashboard, positioning him and me. Then we just, kind of, well, did it. I'd some rough idea on how the logistics of it were supposed to go, Kyle seemed figure out the rest, and we just did it. We got ready, we prepared, we bucked and rutted, and we christened the front seat of my car.

And God, it was perfect. The night, the road, my car, my life, Kyle, everything, it was all perfect.

Kyle was exhausted. I didn't blame him, he'd done most of the work. He'd done it like he'd been versed and rehearsed in it, with strength and energy and muscles I didn't know he had, I didn't know any human being had. He was incredible.

He was laid against me, on me, panting heavily, completely spent. I doubted his position was comfortable, arms messily, firmly looped round my ribs, still pseudo-straddling me, mostly just sitting on me, his legs resting against the parts of the car he'd used for leverage, the passenger seat, the space next to the drivers seat, the drivers side door, wherever. In the cloying cobwebs of the afterglow neither of us gave a damn about anything.

I'd always known he was lithe, but he'd surprised me just how lissom he could be. I could feel his heart still pounding, his faint chest heaving. His face was pushed against my throat, I could feel his short, sharp breaths, his gasping pants, his damp hair brushing my shoulders.

Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him firmly against my chest, clutching him close to me. Occasionally I'd push a kiss against his cheek, his neck or his shoulder, any part of him I could reach. Occasionally I'd whisper something to him, promise him something worthless, tell him how beautiful he was. Mostly I just held him, hugging him, occasionally rubbing my hands across the smooth curve of his spine, tracing the faint shadows along his side, the slight arching lines etched out by his ribs, gripping, caressing his hips, his waist, his perfect, perfect ass. I felt his breathing soften, slowing, regularizing, I felt his heart calming, long after mine already had, the eccentric, quick beats steadying themselves back into slow, gentile thumping.

I was smiling absently, delicately at the situation, clutching Kyle, carefully and determinedly. I'm pretty sure Kyle fell asleep after a bit, but I didn't gee him up to check. We were okay being silent for now, okay bare skinned, bare everythinged, okay bare and pressed against each other.

I kept my leg locked on the dashboard, supporting him, even though my thigh was cramping, I didn't fucking care. Hours passed, literally, with us locked like this.

It was only when the Colorado coldness got that bit too biting, when all our warm that leaked out of the cracks in the door, it was only then we relented and pulled apart, unable to keep each other warm enough any longer. We dressed in cramped, confined silence, wriggling about in the car to find our clothes. I found mine easily enough, Kyle had mostly just dropped them neatly over the gearstick, but I'd been a bit more vigorous in disposing his. I'd finished dressing whilst he'd been retrieving his jeans, clumsily leaning through the gap in the seats to pull them off the back shelf.

It was awkward, to say the least. I tried talking to him, asking if he was okay, but he brushed me off with a nod, kneeling upright on the passenger seat so he could yank his jeans back up, glancing down as he buttoned his fly.

He winced slightly as he sat back down, biting his lip as he slid his shoes back on. Again, I asked him if he was okay. Again, all he did was nod.

Sighing inwardly, I forced my car into gear, performing a U-turn (ignoring the engines screeches) before bumping back onto the highway. Clicking up another gear, I felt a weight on my wrist. Glancing down, I watched Kyle wrap his fingers around my carpel bones, clutching me tightly. Smiling slightly, I briefly guided his hand up, kissing his fingertips, before lacing my hand back round the wheel.

He didn't let me go the entire hour it took us to drive back to South Park. He didn't look at me, he didn't really say anything. Occasionally I'd ask him something, make a pathetically nonsense remark just so I could hear his voice, just so I could reassure myself he was still there. He answered me, equally as nonsensical, equally as insubstantial, reassuring me he hadn't thrown open his door and bailed across the highway.

That weight on my wrist was the only thing that kept me able to drive, kept me vaguely level headed. I was pretty sure once we reached South Park, once he let go, I was going to panic.

Pulling up outside his house, I clicked the engine off, turning to look at him. Smiling weakly. Only now did he stiffly detach his fingers from my wrist, clutching his hands together in his lap, adamantly refusing to meet my eyes.

"Dude, Kyle, please talk or something."

He shook his head determinedly, keeping his eyes fixed on the glovebox. I just forced myself to keep on smiling, my hands frozen still, clutching the steering wheel. For a while we were silent, just sitting in that car. Me staring at him. Him staring at the glovebox. It was unbearable.

"Dude, what happens next?" He sounded scared, terrified. Horrified. The forced smile on my face faltered and failed, and I shut my eyes with sigh.

"I-I don't know dude. I just… just don't know."

* * *

A/N – I wrote this story back to front, quite literally. It was rather odd, but hey. There you go. This whole thing is occurring roughly two years before _No One Ever Said That Life Was Fair_, but they're not going to be all that related to each other. Just a few little tangents, because I like linking random lint together.

Oh, and my actual real life has started getting stupid and hectic again (uuurghhatetherealworld) and is bugging the whelp out (seriously, seriously urrgh), so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, sorrysorry. Hopefully I'll manage it before Easter, it's just with the real world turning around me, I might not be able to mass upload like before. I might have to be more slower, so awh le sigh and sorrysorrysorry and cries and stuff because I really hate the idea of having to go slow. Stupid degree actually taking effort, yelch, stop it.

Like before I've written the ending already, as well as a few key scenes, so if I do run out of vavavoom or energy (not likely, I adore writing Stan and Kyle, as clichéd as they may be), I'll still be able to roughly finish it. I hate leaving things unfinished.

But on the bight side, I break up for summer in, like, two months. I can writewritewrite the very stars out the sky when I have more time. It's gorgeous.

So thank you for reading, I hope you like it, I hope hope hope so. Loves loves loves.


	2. What I'd Just Done

I didn't know what to do.

I really didn't know what to do.

So I went home, went to sleep, and woke up. I woke up with bruises on my neck and no idea what to do.

I drove to Kyle's house, pulled up outside, and tapped my horn. As per usual. Because I had no idea what else to do. He was already ready, but then he was always already ready. Kyle was pretty damn organised when he wanted to be.

So I drove him to school. We didn't talk, not about anything serious, not about anything that mattered. I mean we ran our mouths nearly constantly, discussing the weather, what we were going to have for lunch, what homework we had, how to combo move on Tekken what new gossip had been concocted. We talked for the sake of killing silence, for the sake of hearing each other respond. I don't think we ever shut up. But not shutting up doesn't mean we were talking. Not talking properly.

He clung to my side, I clung to his. Every single fucking second we could be together we made damn well sure we were together. It was pissing people off, anybody could see that. We didn't care though; I think we were both pretty much just flipping off the outside world, focusing solely on invading each others personal space, on discussing, for the millionth time, how cold it was getting now autumn had ended. Ignoring, of course, how cold, how emotionless, our conversation actually was.

I knew we needed to talk about _it_. About what we'd done on Highway 285, about how, why, we'd done it. About what it meant for us now. We were both too scared though; both too terrified that the answers we'd give wouldn't match up, or would jar against each other. We were both too scared we'd say something, something honest and unbridled, something that the other person didn't want to hear. So we decided to say nothing, to not ever mention it, not _ever_ allude to it. We decided to be cowards, to pretend like it had never happened. To hope, eventually, we'd just forget all about it and go back to being normal, ordinary friends. With normal, ordinary lives, and normal, ordinary _girlfriends_.

We played the same game the next day. We played the same game the day after that. And the day after that, and the day after that. It seemed to go on forever, this expanse of awkward avoided eye contact and tepid, insipid conversations. It felt like something was haemorrhaging, every day this pressure was building up around us, the aching weight of the things we needed to say, of the eye contact we needed to make. Of the _thing _we needed to fucking talk about.

On Wednesday I brought a cheapass notebook. Every time the pressure pounded, I'd write something down in it. I found it cathartic. Everyone else found it confusing. They all thought I was writing poetry, odes to how hard life was, how joyous misery is. I didn't bother to correct them. They all thought I was being emo, overdramatic, all upset over something retarded. They all thought I was in some state because Wendy had refused to get back together with me. They all thought I was beating myself up over some _girl_. I didn't bother to correct them at all.

My mom was beginning to worry. I knew I needed to pull myself back together, but fuck did I care. I just went with it, acting, saying, doing whatever. I didn't care, I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts, with my aching heart and painful, clawing fear. I was too preoccupied being fucking confused and fucking exhausted. I was too preoccupied with stalking Kyle everywhere.

Kyle and I didn't smile when we were alone together. I think I just stopped smiling altogether. Each day I brooded a little more. Each day I focused on hiding the bruises on my neck, I obsessed about keeping them hidden. Each day I obsessed about what they meant. Each day I became more and more fucking pathetic. During one free period, Craig snapped and called me a worthless faggot. I didn't even bother to flip him off, it was too ironically droll.

Kyle tried to act normal around everyone else. He didn't catch himself all the time, occasionally he'd be honest, shell-shocked and terrified, like he acted around me, but most of the time he tried to act okay. Forced smiles and acrid grins, all fake, all awful. No one noticed. It was so glaringly obvious, and no one could tell. I found that fucking amazing.

It was Thursday when the pressure gave. We were sitting at lunch, I was jotting something down, ignoring everyone. Kenny was sitting next to me playing up for Kyle, leaning across the table, joking with him, acting stupid, lewd and ridiculous. It was making me feel slightly queasy.

Kyle was laughing, all weak, brittle and fake, rather painful. Cartman was cramming something dawn his fat gullet, spitting out random insults, insults mostly directing at me, between repellent chews. I was ignoring them all, scrawling something down in my notepad, glaring unamusedly at my pen, occasionally correcting my grammar, shifting random words.

Then Kyle wasn't laughing anymore. I remember dropping my pen and staring at him. He wasn't laughing. He was sitting there, leaning over his fucking lunch, just crying. I think everyone just fucking stared at him, the entire fucking cafeteria went quiet to fucking stare at him. It even took Catman a minute to get over the shock, to get over the shock and begin to laugh obnoxiously. Obnoxiously and very, _very _loudly. Kyle hadn't cried like that in years, he hadn't sobbed like that in nearly a _decade_.

Before I was really aware of it, I'd snapped my notebook shut, I'd grabbed my bag, I was on the other side of the table. Grabbing his arms, his sides, I was pulling him to his feet. I'm pretty sure I said something ridiculous to him, pretty sure I told him to "Come on, upsies." But he didn't respond to me. I pulled him out of the cafeteria, out of the staring eyes, through the school and into a quietish hallway.

Kyle was clutching me, driving his face into my shoulder, the crook of my neck, shaking with distress. I was hugging him loosely, hushing him, patting him like a dog, awkwardly trying to calm him down. A few straggling students were lolling down the corridor, staring openly at us, completely bewildered. It must have been quite a sight, South Park High's pissant fucking quarterback uncomfortably cuddling his sobbing best friend, patting his hair in a vaguely insolent manor. It was weird, weird and kinda gay.

Kyle let out a particularly upsetting whine, and I clutched him against me slightly tighter, trying to ignore the way he was furrowing his face against my neck, trying to ignore the way it was making me remember that night in Denver, forcing me to recall those memories, forcing my heart rate to race and my breathing to quicken. A few of the loitering students had stopped to stare, whispering quietly to each other, openly fucking pointing at us. Angrily I flipped them off, shooting them the meanest glare I could. They just didn't give a fuck. I couldn't shoot daggers like Kyle could, my glares were never all that mean.

Desperately I glanced around, spied the old sports equipment cupboard, and pulled Kyle inside. Once I'd shut the door and flicked on a light, once Kyle knew we were alone, he really began to angst. Out of the way of prying eyes I could comfort him properly, easily, hugging him against me, stroking his back, telling him he was going to be okay. Telling him everything was going to be okay.

He was clutching round at my shoulders, head still driven against my neck, chocking out sobs. I felt the slight wetness of his tears begin to soak through my collar, brushing dampness against my skin. Worriedly I gripped him tighter, pressing him firmly, reassuringly against me, desperately trying to convince him we'd be alright, desperately promising him everything would be okay.

Eventually he calmed down, sobs giving way to shaking whimpers. Whimpers giving way to little whines. Whines giving way to the occasional sniffle. For a while I continued to hug him, I continued to stoke his hair and rub his back. He pulled away before too long, crouching down on the dirty, dusty lino, wiping his face with his heavy knit jumpers cuff.

So there we were sitting in the old sports equipment cupboard, sitting cross-legged on the floor, refusing to look at each other. We were surrounded by ancient, broken equipment: fraying, torn gym mats, a broken, cracked pommel horse, mounds of abandoned, torn team vests, splintering baseball bats, a net of deflated, punctured balls. Three tackling dummies, all of which Cartman and his massive bulk had managed to destroy, had been thrown into a corner, ungraciously piled together, padding spilling out from the cracks in their veneers. Come to think if it, I'm pretty sure Cartman had been the one to break the pommel horse, tear the gym mats, crack the baseball bats, break most of this shit. Perhaps this was his plan to get out of P.E, he was going to destroy all the schools equipment, leave us with nothing to play with.

I was clutching a football to my chest, hugging it like a fucking plush toy or Sparky or something. I was pretty sure this was the football Clyde had accidentally broken my nose with last year. That's probably why Coach had rammed it back in here, getting rid of a bad-luck-ball or something. I didn't particularly want to examine the bloodstains to be sure though. Kyle joked that with all these balls constantly flying at my face, I was going to find myself so beat up and bashed in I'd end up resembling Barbra Streisand. The thought of _anyone_ ever thinking that about me was pretty damn depressing. The thought of him ever thinking that about me made me want to die a little.

Kyle was clutching a slightly deflated basketball in pretty much the same way, but I'm pretty sure he didn't have a blood bond with it or anything. He'd never really been seriously injured on the court, not since he blew his fucking kneecaps out when he was eight. He was sharp enough, and fast enough, to get the fuck out of the way when he needed to. A lifetime of Cartman had taught him that.

People were saying he was loosing his touch though. I didn't think he was, he's just as good as ever. It's just his genes had begun to catch up with him again. He was too short, too stocky, too _fluffy_ for basketball, and now the rest of the team, the members of the _opposing_ teams, had begun to really lank it over him. Hell, I was beginning to lank it over him. Kyle just seemed to have stopped growing. And I was still getting taller every day.

It didn't stop him kicking some serious ass on that court, mind you. I doubt anything could stand in the way of Kyle when he was determined to do something, to get something, whether he's after a slam-dunk or a set of knockoff Terrance and Philip dolls. Kyle can get anything if he wanted it enough.

"Perhaps…" He was speaking delicately, carefully, his little finger held stiffly up in a very proper, very poised manor. His face was pained, strained and palled. His eyes were still slightly red, and in the faint light I could still make out the tear streaks marking his cheeks. It took all my self restraint not to reach across and rub them away, to destroy all evidence of his angst jag so I could pretend it never happened. "Perhaps we should… should take a little break from each other, maybe? Spend some time apart and see if this all clears up, hmm?"

In a blur the balls were gone and I was clutching him again, clutching him in a completely unplatonic, very dangerous way. And he was whimpering and groaning, hands against my chest, gripping fabric I grasped him, felt him up, caressed him. I was nuzzling his neck, kneading his sides, nipping at his skin.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again, okay? You're staying right beside me, we're getting through this, and we're getting through this _together_." I didn't know if I was pleading with him or commanding him. I don't think he knew either.

"Ok-okay."

"Promise me!" I bit at his jugular wetly.

"I-I…I…"

"Promise Kyle!" I bit at him again.

"I-I… I promise!"

So I let him go, and he walked off to calculus.

And I just stayed in that cupboard, trying to understand what I'd just done.


	3. I Knew It Wasn't

"Oh, for God's sake Stan, this is getting fucking ridiculous."

I glanced up sharply, hissing through my teeth. Our English teacher was camped out at her desk, listlessly making some essays, occasionally looking up to glare at us. We were supposed to be doing some essay test thing, I'd already finished. There was still, like, half an hour before class ended, but I really couldn't be bothered to expand my somewhat patchy critique on Hamlet's beyond obvious Oedipus complex and smothering pathos.

Then again, neither could Kenny apparently. He was all but invading my desk, elbows on my question paper, very conspicuously trying to read my text. Very obviously going to get me caught. Reaching up I placed one hand on his forehead, trying to push him away. He refused to budge.

After a minute or so of pushing, I gave in, reverting my attention to the phone I was clutching under the desk. Me and Kyle had just finished a very trite conversation about the weather, and were having a very detailed, very looping text discussion about what we were going to get for lunch tomorrow.

"What the fuck is with you two anyway? Can't give each other five fucking minutes?"

"I'm just checking up on him."

"No, you checked up on him two fucking hours ago. Now you're just flirting."

I flushed. "We're just talking."

"Non-stop since his wangst jag?"

"Yeah, it's kinda what friends _do_." I finished tapping out my text, sending it as I glared up at Kenny.

"You never do it with _me_."

"Okay, kinda what _best_ friends do. You'd know that if your fucking best friend wasn't _Cartman_." My phone vibrated softly, and I clicked Kyle's message open.

Kenny pulled a face. "No need to get _bitchy_, I'm just trying to help."

"Oh yeah? How?" I began tapping out another reply to Kyle.

"Listen, Stan, you have _got_ to get over whatever the fuck went on with you two. You have got to grow the fuck up and detach yourself from Kyle's fucking cock." I winced inwardly, luckily Kenny didn't notice. "Man, this shit just ain't healthy, get over it and leave Kyle be."

"He's not my fucking boyfriend, and I really don't give a shit what you think, so, hey."

"Dude, I'm your fucking friend, and, believe it or not, I'm worried about you guys."

"Don't be. Everything's _fine_."

"No, it isn't. Look, whatever fight you and Kyle have had, whatever the fuck happened, just get over it. It's not the end of the fucking world, you know. Stop acting like it is."

I frowned, ignoring him so I could focus on my phone.

"Jesus Christ, if you keep on acting like this, people really _will _start thinking you're fucking."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, shut the fuck up!" I snapped, probably a little louder then I should have.

"Mr. Marsh, what are you doing?"

I froze, one finger hovering over the send button.

"Nothing, Ms. Blake."

"Well, that's funny. From here, nothing looks an awful lot like texting."

Still frozen, I watched her stalk over, looming above me with her talons outstretched. Behind her Kenny had snapped back away from me, hunching himself inconspicuously over his desk. He was trying to act all innocent, eyeing up the ceiling and humming quietly, refusing to meet my death glares.

Ms. Blake cleared her throat, and I sighed. Relenting, I pulled my phone out from under the desk, letting her snatch it away.

"Could you… Could you at least tell him?"

She just gave me a look that indicated she wanted me to die in a fire.

"You can have it back tomorrow Marsh. If I catch you with it again, it'll be a referral to the office. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

After a minute long glaring contest, Ms. Blake returned to her marking, and I began sulking. Kenny reinvaded my desk, whittling on about something ridiculous, a slightly gloating smirk shadowing his face. For a second I contemplated stabbing him with a pencil, but thought better of it. Ms. Blake was already pissy at me, and the last thing I wanted to do was bloody up her room and get myself thrown in detention.

"Kenny-" I interrupted him, much to his chagrin, "Kenny, just shut up and give me your fucking phone."

"Fuck you."

"Well at least fucking text Kyle and tell him what happened!"

"_Fuck you_."

"Why the fuck not?"

"I'm not your faggy little messenger pigeon Stan! Kyle won't die if he has to go half an hour without an update on your lunch plans. Besides, I don't have any credit." He snapped, still irritatingly smug. I just pressed my hand to my face, cursing softly.

"Goddamnit Kenny, you fucking suck."

"Yeah? Well I fucking blow too."

I flipped him off, and he just grinned toothily back.

XXX

XXX

XXX

Half an hour later, and Kyle all but accosted me as I left the room.

"Why'd you stop texting me? Dude, that's fucking _rude_." He crossed in a somewhat prissy way, cheeks slightly flushed. He'd obviously ran straight down here from his last lesson. It was sort of adorable.

"Teacher took away my phone. Can't have it back until tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That sucks."

"It was Kenny's fault." Behind me Kenny cussed me out, swiping pathetically at my arm. Kyle just shrugged.

"Doesn't surprise me."

"Yeah."

Smiling weakly, pathetically, Kyle pulled some indistinguishable sad-come-relieved smile. I just sighed, gripping his shoulder, pulling him towards the exit, towards my car.

Behind us I heard Kenny tut, and my insides clenched.

The drive home was awkward. But everything we did nowadays was awkward, so I really wasn't all that surprised. Awkward questions, awkward silence, awkward, forced conversation. I tired asking him if he was okay, but he brushed me off with a wave and a grunt, telling me to leave it, lying that he was fine. I just sighed inwardly, glancing across at him as I changed gears. He was worrying with a strand of his hair, talking incessantly about everything that didn't matter. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Fifteen minutes of this trite awkwardness later and I was pulling up outside his house, glancing over as Kyle unbuckled. He was still refusing to look me in the eyes, fixing his gaze on my chest or over my shoulder, fixing it on anything he could, anything that would give him an excuse not to look at me. Sighing, I watched him awkwardly climb out the car, yanking his bag out after him.

After a moment waiting for me to follow, Kyle frowned, dipping his head back through his door. Keeping his gaze fixed on the window above my head.

"Aren't you coming?"

We'd spend the past fucking week together, glued to each others sides, invading each others lives with awkward conversation and brooding silence. Desperately clawing at each other for a reason we refused to talk about.

And Kenny was right; it really wasn't fucking healthy.

"I'll… I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Kyle flinched slightly, biting the inside of his cheek. "I thought you said we were going to-to get through this together?"

"We are. It's just… We can't spend every single second of our lives together, can we? That's just not healthy. We have to try get things back to _normal_, back to how they should be."

Kyle flushed. "You've been speaking to Kenny."

I balked. "How do you know?"

"Because he gave me that same fucking speech."

"Well… He's kinda right, you know?"

Kyle didn't answer. He just straightened up, slammed my door shut, and stalked off across his front yard. I stared after him mournfully for a while, before putting my car in gear and driving home.

XXX

XXX

XXX

I left straight after dinner, shouting some vague excuse through the door as I pulled it shut behind me. My house, my room, it all felt too much like a prison, all walls and roofs and enclosed spaces and echoing memories of Kyle. It all smacked of Kyle, every fucking little thing seemed to remind me of Kyle. My dad's stupid fucking fag jokes, a dig at me and Kyle, my Xbox, the games I spent my life paying with Kyle, the kitchen where we talked, the fucking living room sofa we longed across to watched shitty TV, it all forced me to think about Kyle, about what we'd done, about what was happening. And for five minutes, for just five minutes, I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to be forced to remember, forced to deal with the awkwardness and the constriction and the worry and agony and angst. I needed out

So I drove, I drove for what felt like hours, driving through the settling darkness, taking routes and roads I kept mapped out in my head. I drove past Stark's Pond, I hit Hell's Pass, the arcade, the high street, town hall, the cow lots, fuck, I even drove past our old elementary school. I needed to forget, to get away, but I was stuck in a town saturated in memories, memories of tragic, stupid things, of mobs and riots, memories of me and Kyle. Of me and Kyle, me and Kyle, all the time of me and Kyle. There was no way to forget about him, about it, about anything. Not even for five minutes.

Hours later, at the end my pathetic angst tour, I found myself in Denny's. It was one of the few places in this godforsaken town that wasn't oversaturated with memories of me and Kyle, of the stupid shit we did together. Kyle never really came to Denny's, not with me, anyway. Together we usually ended up at Shakey's, Whistlin' Willy's, some random fast food joint, wherever. Denny's was where I came to brood, I guess. It was neutral territory, it reminded me of the goth kids I only occasionally still talk to, of Wendy and heartbreak, but at least it didn't remind me of Kyle. And after a week having to deal with all the shit surrounding me and Kyle, worrying about my pathetic on-again-off-again melodrama with Wendy seemed like sweet fucking relief.

Besides, it was quite peaceful in Denny's tonight. Sure, the goth kids were draped across a table on the other side of the diner, but then they always were. Sure a few meandering sods were dotted about the place, sure there were a few families, but it was quiet, calm. It was a fucking reprieve.

I ordered a coffee, just a coffee, and the elderly waitress serving me nearly spat fire. Flipping her pad shut, she sloppily filled up my mug, before shuffling off, muttering unhappily about there being "Another fucking one."

I just sighed, grasping the tepid, cheap pottery loosely in my left hand, my pen clutched firmly in my right. I was writing, flowing, pathetic prose, venting all the things I needed to say, getting it all out. It was exhausting, I was exhausted, but I didn't stop. Once I got it all down on paper, I could work on getting it all out of my head. Once it was all out of my fucking head, I could burn this fucking notebook and pretend like I wasn't having these feelings, that my world wasn't collapsing around me. I could pretend that everything was okay, that everything was going to be okay.

Even though I knew it wasn't.

* * *

A/N - Hey Hey, sorry for the slight delay! Real life stuff just doesn't know when it's overstayed its welcome, ya know? Anyway, candyfloss, it doesn't really matter, I'll just shoo it out of the way for now (and at least has stopped glitching, so yay!) Thank you for reading, hope you're enjoying the over emotional angst, and thank you thank you thank you for the lovely reviews, thank you so much, they really make writing such a joy, thank you (and Shakuhachi Jade, oopsy, sorry about those, thank you for the heads up, it's corrected and fixed now, so yay and thank you!)

The next chapter shouldn't take too long, it's got a good chunk already written, so I should be able to knock it up soon! Until then, Caturday and candyfloss and thank you so muches! Keep safe!


	4. Away From Me

"You know Raven, trying to be unconformist is so conformist."

I glanced up, watching Dylan slide into the seat opposite me, coffee mug gripped tightly in his fist. Under the florescent lighting the red in his hair was acrid, and his pale, pockmarked skin cast a sallow gleam. I bit my lip. Dylan wasn't an ugly guy; it's just pretty much impossible for anyone to look good under florescent lights. Across the diner, Henrietta and her posse were watching us uninterestedly, their own mugs clutched in their hands, unlit cigarettes clamped in their jaws.

I sighed inwardly. "What do you mean?"

Dylan just shrugged, gesturing at my shirt. "Bit dark for a jock, don't you think?

"Why? Because it's fucking black? Wearing black doesn't automatically make you goth, you know. A lot of kids wear black."

"I know. But when you're wearing back, drinking coffee after sundown and" he gestured at my notepad "writing undoubtedly crap poetry, well, life's suddenly looking pretty damn gothic, isn't it?"

"I'm not fucking writing poetry."

"Oh? Well what are you writing then?"

"None of your fucking business."

Dylan just intensified his look of sheer disinterest. "Whatever, it's not like I give a shit anyway." He paused for a moment, before pressing "What the fuck's a preppy perfect little jock like _you_ got to be depressed about anyway?"

I thought the "little" was a bit rich considering the fact that the only person Dylan was rivalling in height was Kyle, but I didn't say anything. Instead I just murmured out a very weak "I'm not depressed."

"You seem pretty depressed to me. Did you have _another_ fight with your prissy little girlfriend?"

I snorted, flipping him the bird.

Dylan just shrugged. "Oh, so was it your conformist Jew boyfriend that dumped you this time then?"

I clenched my jaw. "No."

"He didn't dump you?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend."

Dylan snorted. "That lie's getting pretty old."

"It's not a _lie_. He's _not _my boyfriend. He has _never_ been my boyfriend. He-" my insides clenched "He will _never_ be my boyfriend." I finished off, a faint waver catching my voice.

Dylan just quirked one eyebrow, lounging back against the booth. "Whatever you say Raven."

I just sighed, rubbing my temple. "What are you doing here Dylan?"

"What? What am I doing in this godforsaken diner? I think you'll find I was here long, _long _before you were Raven."

"No, what are you doing _here_" I gestured to my booth "at my table?"

He shrugged. "You were brooding on your own. Writing poetry. That's pretty Byronic. I dig that."

"Well I wasn't writing poetry, and now I'm not even on my own any more. Do you still _dig it_?"

"Yeah, I dig it. You still look pretty broody."

"I'm not brooding."

"Try telling that to your face."

I game him an unimpressed look. "Well perhaps I just want to be left alone."

"Well if that was the case you could have gone to the fucking IHOP douche. You know Denny's is _ours_."

"Fuck that, all that tacky blue and white? Besides, Denny's was closer."

He let out a breathy bark, and a smile quirked my lips. He had a pretty spectacular voice, a brilliant laugh, forged by a decade of smoking, a decade of croaking misery, a decade of little use. It was soft, rough, quiet, lilted slightly. It was probably his greatest asset, his voice.

"What the fuck are you staring at?"

"Nothing. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"About none-of-your-fucking-business is what. Damn, why are you so nosey today?"

"Perhaps I'm just trying to be friendly."

I raised my eyebrows. "But being friendly is so _conformist_."

"You're so conformist."

"I never said I wasn't."

Dylan just smiled thinly, toying with an unlit cigarette. "So you and that Wendy chick aren't back together yet then?"

I shook my head, and he quirked his eyebrows.

"Really? You're usually back together by now."

I pursed my lips. "I know. Not this time, I guess."

"Why?"

"I dunno, she doesn't want to or whatever. Maybe she'll go back to Token or Gregory or fuck knows this time instead?"

"You sure _she_ isn't the reason for all this" he waved his hands roughly across me "angsting? She usually is, you know."

I just snorted again, and shook my head.

"Don't you want to get back together with her?"

I shrugged. "It's Wendy dude, I just sit back and let her decide."

"You don't sound like you care about this all that much."

"I know. That's her main complaint at the moment."

"Why don't you act more passionate about her then? What happened to the guy who'd weep and shit depressing poetry every time she snapped her fingers?"

"I just don't give enough of a shit anymore. We've been playing the same fucking game for way too long now. Besides, there are bigger things to worry about."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Like…" I hesitated. "Like school and stuff, you know?"

Dylan raised his eyebrow. "Dude, I give so little of a shit about school trying to describe just how little I care would probably kill you."

I just laughed, causing Dylan to grin unnervingly back at me.

"_Stan_?"

I glanced over his shoulder, and froze, the laughter dying from my face.

"Kyle?"

In front of me Dylan tensed, pulling himself to his feet with such force he nearly pulled the table over. Behind him Kyle was looking from him to me, a mess of unreadable emotions and sheer confusion flitting across his wind-chill-pink tinged face.

"You never said you were waiting for your boyfriend. God _Marsh_, you're such a fucking _cheerleader_."

My temper gave, and I snapped.

"He's _not_ my fucking boyfriend!" I'd banged my hands on the table for emphasis, causing the dregs of coffee to jump out the mugs. Kyle flinched, Dylan blinked. I held up my hands in an apology, shutting my eyes for a second, trying to calm myself down.

Then Dylan just smirked. "Sure you didn't get dumped, Raven?"

"_I'm sure_, Dylan." My hands were shaking slightly; I could feel the tremors as I pulled my fingers through my hair.

"Well whatever." Sighing, Dylan stretched, pulled himself out the booth, stepping away from Kyle (most likely for his own safety). Kyle just alternated between glaring at him and at me, his arms crossed, his stance squared. For a moment Dylan just smirked at him, before he turned back to me, pulling a napkin across the table, pulling out a pen and jotting down a number.

"When you finally get tired of all these" he gestured vaguely towards Kyle "_conformists_ once and for all, give me a call. We could have some real _fun_." He slid the napkin towards me, attempted a slight lip corner quirk smile, before striding away, the metal chains on his jeans clinking pathetically.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Oh dear God, did what I think just happen actually just fucking happen?"

Kyle huffed, stance still squared. "I didn't mean to interrupt your fucking _date_. I can leave if I'm in the fucking way."

"Sit down Kyle."

"No no, I can just-"

"Just _sit down_, Kyle." His eyes slitted, hastily I corrected myself. "Please sit down Ky?"

For a moment he just glared at me, arms still crossed, stance still squared. Then he sighed, pulling one hand through his hair as he gracelessly sat down opposite me.

"What the hell was that?" He hissed, gesturing vaguely towards Dylan, who'd nonchalantly rejoined Henrietta and the other goths.

"I dunno, I was just sitting here, having some coffee, and he came over and started talking." I swallowed hard, fingering the corner of the napkin, "Then he gave me his number."

Kyle just sniffed, staring pointedly at the napkin holder, refusing to meet my gaze. "Oh sure, everyone fucking hits on _you_."

I bit my lip, my insides clenching. "Why are you upset?"

Kyle just froze, jaw tense. "I'm not. I'm fucking _tired_ and fucking _cold_. And apparently I can't leave you alone for five minutes or you'll start hitting on some random goth kid. Fuck Stan, have some _standards_."

"I wasn't hitting on _him_, he was hitting on _me_." Kyle just raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "Fuck, he's not that _bad_!"

Kyle paled. "Oh God, you actually _like_ him!"

"Fuck Kyle, I'm not _gay_!" It wasn't really I lie. I mean, I wasn't really gay. Like, not really _really._ "I didn't even know he was _gay_."

Kyle flushed slightly, before re-crossing his arms and making a disapproving growl. "He's probably not. I bet he just thinks dating girls is too conformist."

"I dunno, being goth _and_ gay, well that's just painfully cliché."

"I guess he had to choose whether he'd rather be conformist or cliché. God, what a hard decision he had to make." Kyle bit it out acidly, and I couldn't stop my lip from quirking.

"Not really. They're pretty clichéd already, what with the smoking and the darkness and the coffee and the shit music and the poetry. What's another nail in the coffin, huh?"

"Really Stan, calling dark clothes, shit music, coffee at Denny's and" Kyle lent forward to tap my notebook "writing depressing poetry cliché? People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, you know."

"It's my glass house, I'll shatter it if I want to."

"I know you will. Trust me, I fucking know you will."

I didn't quite know what to do, so I just changed the subject. "How did you get here anyway?"

"I walked."

"But it's freezing, and dark out. You don't like walking in the dark."

"Just because I don't like to do something doesn't mean I can't fucking do it. I have to do lots of things I don't like. Fuck, I have to talk to Cartman, like, every _fucking_ day. Besides, it wasn't as though I could just call you, was it?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't. I checked around a few places, you know? Your house, the arcade, Starks Pond, Harbucks, whatever." He snapped it at me, arms still crossed, face still tinged pink from the cold.

I bit my lip. I should probably have told my parents where I was going. I should probably have told Kyle where I was going. I should probably have _known_ where I was going. Hell, I should probably have stayed at home. "Why did you want to find me?"

Kyle just shrugged. "I didn't know where you were, no one did. I just, I just wanted to find you."

"Sorry." Exhaling slightly, I picked up a menu, sliding it towards him. "Here, get something to eat. It'll warm you up."

"I'm not hungry." He bit petulantly, arms still latched across his chest.

My lip quirked involuntarily. "Not even after all that walking?" Kyle just glared at me, clearly unamused, clearly pissed off. "Come on Ky. It's Baconalia. You like bacon. I'll buy you a Maple Bacon Sundae. That's like, two Kosher things you can break once. You like breaking those Kosher things."

"A Maple Bacon what?"

I just grinned at him, sliding the menu a little closer, waggling it invitingly. Kyle just glared at it for a moment, before relenting, sighing as he snatched it away from me.


	5. A Bit Less Painful

Food and warmth always made Kyle more amenable. Keeping him full, warm, and away from Cartman have always been the keys to keeping him placid and happy; it doesn't take a Masters Degree to work that out. He calmed down part way through his unappetizing (but whatever, he seemed to be enjoying it) mess of bacon, cheese and grease, the tension leaving his frame, the flushed pinkness leaving his face.

We were silent, him chewing methodically, me lounging back, watching him chew methodically. My coffee clutched aimlessly in my hands, just, you know, being coffee. I realised I kinda lied before: it isn't impossible to look good under florescent lights. I'm sure I looked like shit, messy tasselled hair and washed-out, accidentally jock-tanned skin. But there Kyle was, all pale, creamy undertones and wily red halo, all soft shadows and narrow shoulders and strong, defined features. The humming florescent lights seemed to hyper saturate his colouring, it made him glow slightly, just that bit, just ever so slightly. He made it look so easy. He really was a little bit wonderful.

But he was sad. It was written right across him. He was so fucking sad. I tensed my fingers round my mug, biting at the inside of my cheek. I'd done something terrible, something awful and wrong. I'd been selfish, and I'd broken Kyle. And now I had to make this right.

"I miss you, dude."

Kyle froze mid chew, giving me a weird look from across the table. "I'm _right fucking here _dickwad." He spoke thickly through a mouthful of whatever the fuck he was eating, the back of his hand lifted to his face in an effort to maintain some shadow of dignity. I just smiled weakly.

"You're not though, not really. Dude, dude, you… You _cried_ today. You're not right."

"Dude, I'm _fine_. I'm just tired or cold or stressed or something retarded. It's nothing to worry about." I snorted, and Kyle pulled a face. "Look, dude, you really don't have any right to lecture me, you know?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Dear God Stan, all this Raven shit!"

"What Raven shit?"

"All the black and the brooding and the poetry! I mean, Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, you're acting as though you just got dumped or your dog died something!"

I bit my lip, biting something back, biting I didn't even know what back. "What do you mean all the black?"

Kyle waved his hand across my chest. "That awful fucking shirt, I mean, Christ Stan, you steal that from the undertaker or the _corpse_?"

I glanced down, and bit the inside of my cheek. This shirt was fucking awful, I mean, it was a bloody funeral shirt for God's sake. Still, there was method in my madness, there always had been. Glancing round, making sure we were alone, ignored, out of prying eyes, I unbuttoned my top two buttons, pulling the stiff collar away from my neck. The marks had sort of faded now, but a shadow of them still remained, the cluster perfect light bruises ghosting across my neck.

"Oh." Kyle didn't quite know where to look, and so rammed a forkful of greasy bacon cheese mess into his mouth to busy himself. I just smiled.

"You really did a fucking number on me, dude."

Kyle held up his hand, chewing forcefully, glaring at the napkin holder. "Just don't Stan. Just don't."

I froze slightly, my insides running cold. Slowly the smile fell off my face, slowly I began to rebutton my shirt, averting my eyes away from him.

"Do…" I was speaking thickly, adamantly admiring my coffee cup. "Do you really want me to leave you alone Ky? Do… Would you prefer it if we took some time away from each other? I'll do it, you know, if you want to get through this on your own I'll-"

"No!" Kyle flushed slightly, pausing to think, his cutlery poised over his plate, his eyes still fixed in the napkin holder. "No, it's just... Well if you want to get through this together, yeah, that's fine. But then we actually need to get through it _together_. Don't just tell me you want to get through this together then ditch me the first chance you have because Kenny gave you some scaremongering advice or you panicked or _whatever_. Dude, together or not, _I really don't care_. Just make up your mind, yeah? Don't fuck me about."

I frowned, clutching my coffee cup that little bit tighter. "I'm sorry Kyle, I'm trying my best. I just- I don't know what to do about this."

"And what? You think I do? Dude, we just have to get over it, forget about it, just-just move on, yeah?"

"Dude, you have to start actually talking to me then! You've got to stop being so-so…" I waved my hand across his chest, fighting to find the words. Kyle just watched me sadly, staring at my jugular, still not meeting my gaze. "You've got to stop being so painfully forced all the time! I mean, for God's sake, we're behaving like a couple of guilty kids, like we broke the beaver dam or something! I mean, what we did, it wasn't _that_ bad, was it? We don't have to be ashamed of it of anything, right?"

"No, no. I _know_ we don't. For fucks sake Stan, I'm not the one freaking out here."

"You kinda _are_."

"Well so are _you_." I made to interrupt him, but he stopped me, holding up his hand, inhaling, shaky but strong. "Look, we'll get over it, we'll move on and forget all about it. We'll get girlfriends, we'll get married to those girlfriends, we'll have a family with those girlfriends. We'll live normal lives, and one day this will all just be some stupid faggy little story. Because you're not-_not gay_, and I'm… I'm not either."

I smiled, fake and forced. Because that fucking hurt. I knew it, I _knew_ it, but hearing it still fucking hurt. It hurt like a fucking bitch. I mean, he was right. I wasn't really gay, not a lot, not really _really_. It's not really men, no, I mean, it's not really anyone. It's more just, just _him_.

"Yeah Ky, we'll get over it. It was just some stupid thing we did one night in Denver. It'll end up nothing more then some stupid story. That's it."

Kyle was silent for a moment, blinking at the napkin holder. Eventually he inhaled, breathing out a very low "Yeah."

I sighed back my own weak, pathetic little "Yeah."

Kyle swallowed nothing, dropping his cutlery onto his mostly empty plate, pushing the scraps of food away from him. For a while we just sat there, silently lost in thought, me gazing at him, him gazing at the napkin holder. I was really starting to fucking hate that napkin holder.

It was painful, this thing, this wire wool atmosphere. I knew it was going to be weird, difficult and awkward, getting past what we'd done. I knew it was uncertain and different and fucking bizarre. But I never thought it'd hurt this much, I never thought something so fucking indescribable, so wonderful and perfect could ever, ever cause this much fucking pain.

But then, I never thought I'd fucking fall in love with him. I never thought I'd fall in love with him, then agree to pretend like it this _thing_ never actually happened, put it all behind me and forget about it. But fuck, what else was I supposed to do? He didn't want to remember it, he didn't want to acknowledge it, he just wanted to forget about it. I couldn't force him to remember, I can't force him to accept it and be happy about it, I can't force him to do anything. Fuck, this is _Kyle_, I can't even get him to take his shoes off my fucking dashboard, fuck trying to get him to do something actually _meaningful_. So I'll just forget it, we'll get over it, we'll move on.

I think I can do this.

At least, I hope I can do this.

I fucking _have_ _to do this_.

Kyle sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. For a second I watched him, then he blinked, straightening out his face as he leant right across the table, elbows pushed above his placemat, fingers tented. He was looking at me, for the first time in what felt like _years_ he was actually looking at me. And so I looked back at him, I looked at him and silently conceded I'd do anything he fucking asked me to.

Sadness still clung to him, draped across his shoulders, etched in his face, but he was looking at me. And that was a start. Maybe we really could move passed this, get through this after all.

"Regardless of whatever, well, Stan, you still have to quit with all this poetry shit."

"What poetry shit?"

He gestured at the notebook. "You're not bad with words, you know that, it's just… Well poetry eludes you dude."

"What are you talking about? My poetry is epic." He grinned, a real, actual grin, all canines and wildness. I wrenched back the urge to kiss him, my heart missing a beat. "Well whatever Kyle. I'm not writing poetry anyway."

Kyle's eyebrow quirked. "What are you writing then?"

I shrugged. "Nothing really, nothing important."

"Can I read it?"

I hesitated. "When it's, when _I'm_ done, yeah."

Kyle frowned. "How do you know when you've finished writing _nothing_?"

"When nothing has become something."

Kyle rolled his eyes, before reaching for my menu, turning it round and flipping it over as he began to choose his dessert. Tentatively I reached forward, patting his forearm in a _forcefully_ _platonic_, _nothing more then friendly _way. Kyle just smiled weakly, putting his hand over mine, tersely reassuring me back.

With that, we'd broken the cardinal rule and alluded to _it_. We'd talked about _it_. We acknowledged _it_, that _it_ happened. And guess what? The world didn't fucking end.

Kinda wished it had though. Might have been a bit less painful.

* * *

A/N – Hey hey Lovelies, I'm sorry, but don't quite know when the next chapter will be up. I'm a bit short of time at the moment, last week of Uniuniuni before Easter and all and stuffs gotta be donedonedone. Still, I have Friday off, so it shouldn't be longer then a week! Yay!

And Savannah, thank you! I'm glad their realistic, I do try to keep them from being _too_ OTT or melodramatic. Little melodrama's good (it's love, after all. What is love but a source of melodrama!), too much and it all goes a little wonky. And God, can't imagine Kyle as a cutter. Can't imagine any of them as a cutter really, but especially not Kyle; he's too, well, _Kyle_. Always thought he'd be more likely to get pissed off and punch someone (well, Cartman) when upset, not hurt himself. But hey, each to their own and fluffy candyfloss and yay and love and kittens!


	6. For Him To Follow

"I still can't believe Dylan asked you out. That's like, fucking brilliant dude."

"Just shut up about it Kenny. It wasn't brilliant, it was fucking _mortifying_."

"Mortifying for _you_. Hilarious to me!"

I glared at him across the lunch table, my sandwich clutched tightly in my hands. "Go die in a fire."

"Maybe later. Once I'm done laughing."

"Dude, it's _not funny_. He like, expects me to call him!"

"Are you gonna?"

"Fuck off! Of course not."

"Awwh, Dylan's not that bad, you should give him a chance! You'd make such an _adorable_ couple!" He clasped his hands together and mimed smooches. I blanched.

"Just-Just no!"

Kyle suddenly appeared next to me, slamming his tray onto the table, throwing himself down on the bench. Immediately he began stabbing at his lunch, a look of thunder plastered across his face. I just glanced up at him, doing my best to remain meek and inconspicuous, trying to placate his unexplained wrath. He'd been in a foul mood all day, he'd been angry when I picked him up, he'd been angry during homeroom, he'd been angry during lessons, and now, apparently, he was going to be angry during lunch. I think everyone had decided to just leave him too it, it was easier that way. Well, everyone except Cartman; Cartman was relishing in winding him up. This was like Christmas for him.

Kenny just cleared his throat, before turning his attention back to me. "Dude, you should call him!"

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "No Kenny, just, just no. I can't believe he thought I was _gay_; that's just so fucking awkward."

"Well you're behaving so fucking faggy lately, it's no wonder he got confused. Your rampant pussyism is enough to screw up any dudes gaydar." Cartman spat it through a mouthful of food. It was a truly nauseating sight.

"Fuck you fatass."

"Hey, you guys heard? Party at Bebe's this Saturday!"

I willingly pulled my glare off Cartman, of his overstuffed mouth, frowning at Clyde. He'd awkwardly lunged across to table towards us, twisting himself into a very uncomfortable looking position. "You what?"

"Bebe's having a party this Saturday!"

"Why?"

"I dunno. I don't _care_, her parents are away or something. Red thinks she'll be able to get us a keg, Craig's gonna try steal us some spirits, it's going to be _sweet_! You guys in?"

I shrugged, causally tearing my sandwich in half "Sure, why not? I've got nothing better to do this weekend." I paused for a second, before tentatively probing "Kyle, you wanna come?"

Kyle just grunted, jamming his folk into his mushy brown imitation of a steak, glare resolutely fixed on his tray. I sighed, rubbing my hand across my face. Clyde just cleared his throat awkwardly, turning his attention to Kenny, "How about you Kenny? You going to come?"

"Of course. Like I'd ever miss a party!"

I rolled my eyes. "Any excuse to get wasted, huh Ken?"

He grinned wickedly, all pointed teeth and slitted eyes. "Oh, you know me so _well_ Stanley!"

"Hey Stan?" Someone was tapping on my shoulder, tentative and nervous. I frowned, glancing behind me. Butters was standing there, meek and shy, his hands now clutched to his chest, his legs slightly bowed.

"What is it Butters?"

He smiled half-heartedly, worriedly. "Wendy asked m-me to give you this." He was offering me slip of lavender paper, a slip that had been neatly folded into a square. Grunting my thanks I took it from him, folding it open, frowning at her flourished, unnecessarily curly handwriting.

The entire table fell silent, just watching me read, watching me bite my lip and glare and the loopy, melodramatic words. They probably half expected me to read it aloud, to dictate it to them, include them in our stupid, soap opera drama. I didn't indulge them.

"Well, what the fuck does it say?" Kyle snapped it so suddenly, so _angrily_, I automatically flinched away from him.

"She wants to talk to me."

"Are you going to talk to her?" Kyle was so snappy today, something was really upsetting him. Cartman was absolutely loving it, Kyle was easy to bait when he was irritated. By the time first bell rung, they'd already had two arguments, and one screaming match. And I'd already had enough.

"I guess so." I sighed, dropping the note on my tray. "I'll be right back, yeah?"

"Whatever!"

I bit my lip, glancing down at him. He was clenching his jaw, gripping his fork, mutilating his lunch. Exhaling, I patted his shoulder, my chest clenching when he started away from my gesture.

Wendy met me in the middle of the cafeteria, arms clasped across her chest, hugging herself for comfort. I just frowned at her, my own arms crossed defiantly, my eyes narrowed in a bitter glare. She was looking decidedly meek, forced femininity and put-upon coyness. "What do you want Wendy?"

"Just… Just to talk, if that's okay?"

"That depends on what it is you want to talk about."

"I'm… I'm worried about you. Can we, can we please sit down?"

I sighed, waving my hand in a stiff, 'whatever' way. Wendy just smiled thinly, leading us to an empty corner table, delicately seating herself. For a second we were both silent, just gazing across the table at each other, drinking in the painfully awkward atmosphere. Eventually the silence became dragging, and I cleared my throat pointedly.

"What do you want, Wendy?"

"I, I just wanted to ask if you were okay?"

I frowned. "Of course I'm okay. Why the fuck wouldn't I be okay?"

She hesitated, all nerves and uncertainty. "It's just, well, everyone's talking about how, how _upset_ you are. I just wondered what's up, you know? I wanted-wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Oh, for God's sake, I'm not upset! Why is everyone so convinced I'm depressed? I'm _fine_."

"You're not _fine_!" She paused, inhaling slightly. "What's wrong? Is it, is it…" She made a gesture, pointing at herself, pointing at me, before crossing her fingers together.

"No, it's not _us_, it's not _anything_. I'm fucking _fine_! Nothing's _wrong_!"

"Oh, for God's sake Stan, you're not _fine_!"

"I am! I'm _fine_!"

"Well, if you're so _fine_, why have you had your head rammed in that notebook all fucking week? What's with the dark clothes and the brooding? If you're so _fine_ why are you being such a _fucking_ _pussy_?"

I just gaped at her, flushing slightly. "Wendy, _I'm fine_, okay?"

She bit her lip, glancing across at me. "Stan, you can talk to me; you know that. After all we've been through, you can talk to me _anything_, _absolutely anything_. I care about you. I care about you more then you know."

For a minute I just watched her, taking in her wide eyes and set mouth, wondering what would happen, what would happen if I did tell her. I wondered how she'd take it if I just told her, you know, hey Wendy, ten days ago I fucked Kyle, I pulled off Highway 285 and I fucked him, and it was one of the most incredible, most amazing, most momentous moment of my life. And now I think I've sort of a little bit fallen in love with him, but then I've sort of a little bit always been in love with him, so it's sort of hard to tell. Not that all that matters, because he's not actually gay, and the whole thing's messed him up sort of a lot. Actually, I think the whole thing makes him feel physically ill, so we're pretending it didn't actually _happen_. Also, I'm not really in love with you, like, not really at all. I haven't been in love with you for a long while, but I probably should start dating you again anyway, keeping up appearances and all that.

She'd probably throw a fit, she'd almost certainly hurt somebody. Me maybe, Kyle, more likely. There always was a little something off with Wendy. She could be wonderful, mesmerising, brilliant, strong. She could be perfect. But she could also be crazy, irritating, possessive, violent. She could be horrifying, dangerous. She could fire me, fire _Kyle_, into the centre of the sun. She could flip out, she could flip out and someone could get really hurt. Wendy was tempestuous, but not in the way Kyle was tempestuous. Kyle got angry, Kyle got pissed, he lashed out and screamed and threw conniptions. But he only ever left flesh wounds, bruises and cuts and things that healed. He was careful and _good_, he had a temper, but he never really lost control. Kyle was too kind-hearted, too soft, too compassionate to ever really hurt anyone, not even _Cartman _seriously. Wendy lacked his self-control. She acted on emotions, dangerous, violent, volatile emotions. She had the ability to hurt, to really hurt, she had the ability to destroy someone.

I cleared my throat. She really could never know about any of this.

"Just leave it Wendy, okay? _I'm fine_."

She pursed her lips, tensing angrily, arms latching across her chest. She really wasn't happy. "Oh, _whatever Stanley_! Fuck, even after all we've been through? Why the fuck can't-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" I pulled myself up, turning tail and stalking away. I stalked right past her table, I stalked right past mine, I stalked right out the cafeteria, irritated, confused, angry, and scared. Fuck, I was scared of what Wendy would do if she ever found out about this. I snarled to myself. It was unfair, it was unfair how Wendy could run off with whoever she wanted, with Token or Gregory or who-fucking-ever, and that was all okay. But I so much as look at someone else and fuck, she'll quite literally kill them!

I was storming down the corridor when Kyle caught up with me, throwing my bag at me with such force I struggled to catch it.

"What the _fuck_ was that Stan?"

"It was _nothing_!"

"Well, are you getting back with her?"

I tensed my jaw. "Not now, no. I probably will eventually. But then I always do eventually. Fuck, you know how this dance goes. Besides, it's fucking _safer_ this way."

Kyle just rolled his eyes at me, snarling out a curse as he made to stalk away. Impatiently I reached for him, grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to face me. "Fuck Kyle, what is _wrong_ with you today?"

For a moment he just glared back at me, eyes burning with anger. Then he faltered, before sighing, physically drooping.

"God, it's _nothing_ Stan. I'm _fine_. I'm just… I'm just so fucking _tired_."

Concern creased my face, and I bit my lip slightly. "Why are you so tired_ all the time_ Ky?"

"I'm just… I'm just not sleeping right. I haven't slept right for a fucking _week_. It's wearing me the fuck out."

"Why… Why aren't you sleeping right?"

"Oh, I don't know! I just thrash about all fucking night, its fucking bullshit!"

"Do you want me to take you to the doctor?"

"God no! I'll be _fine_, it just insomnia or something. It'll pass."

"Alright, if you say so."

He looked at me, all wide eyes and Kyle, and I tried to smile down at him. I didn't quite manage it, but he seemed to appreciate the attempt. Sighing, I pulled away, striding towards the courtyard, beckoning for him to follow.

* * *

A/N – Hola, so sorry sorry sorry for the wait, packing/unpacking yelchy stuff got all up in the way. Still, all done now, so yay! Bit of a bridging chapter this one (kinda hard to write, but that was mostly because I wrote half of it then accidentally shut Word by mashing a few keys with my palm and the paragraphs and changes all got lost so I just wrote it again and changed it _all_ and I'm babbling now so dustbunny), still it sets things in motion, and things needed to be set in motion! (Also, Wendy's here! And she'll come again before this thing's over!) Thank you thank you all for reading, I really hope you're enjoying it, and a million billion shiny, glittering thank you thank yous for reviewing, they make me feel all warm and duvet! Loves loves.


	7. Change Alone

The next few days saw Kyle redefine the term 'hormonal'. Sometimes he was pissed, God, sometimes he was _really fucking_ pissed, but sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he was depressive, drooping, standoffish, sometimes he was heartbreaking. Sometimes he was even fucking _happy_, sometimes he even _smiled_, even _laughed_, sometimes it was even fucking _genuine_. But Christ was it hard too keep track. He seemed to change his mood hourly, on every whim, at the flip of a coin, God knows. He'd go from being okay to being very not okay in the space of minutes.

And it was terrifying me. I felt awful, really fucking awful, I'd never, _ever_ meant to mess him up, I'd never meant to hurt him. But I had. I had, and now I really had no idea how to put him right. We'd not talked about it again, not since that night at Denny's, we pretended it never happened, that night on the Highway, what I'd done to him in that cupboard, we tried to get back to our usual routine. Nothing ever felt right though, it all felt really, really _wrong_.

I began to wonder if I needed to leave him alone, if he needed time to get over his horror or repulsion or whatever, if he needed to be alone so he could just forget it all, pretend it had never, ever happened. I couldn't bring myself to suggest this to him though, I couldn't face not having him near me, not being close to him all the time, I needed to invade his space every single second I could. It was unhealthy, but I couldn't push him away. I was too selfish, too selfish and too _worried_.

Because Kyle _was_ tired, really tired, really really tired. It was becoming obvious now; the deep, painful bags under his eyes, his gaunt tone, the way he spoke, rubbed his face, the way he acted. Kyle never did well when he was tired. He got irritable, clumsy, he made bad decisions when he was tired. I didn't want to risk leaving him alone to do something stupid.

He'd been alright when I picked him up that morning, he'd been all quiet and meek. He'd not been particularly happy, but he'd not been particularly sad either. We'd had a brief, pointless conversation whilst parked in the school lot; meaningless chat about what time he wanted to go to Bebe's party, about how I'd decided not to drive, about whether we'd walk down together, what time we'd meet up and at who's house. It was all pretty emotionless, trite and cold. But it was something, and at that stage in time, I was thankful for _anything_.

By the time I met him for gym class, he'd gone from quiet and meek to downright furious. Something Cartman had done, something Kenny had leered, having to work with Wendy, having to talk to Butters, an irritating lesson, everything just seemed to have pissed him off. He was being pretty damn vocal about it too, all snapped curses, infuriated insults, all flushed cheeks and violent gestures. For a moment I just smiled; having him all angry, all enraged and indignant, it was almost like having the old Kyle back. No matter how bad things got, Kyle's temper never changed.

After a few minutes watching him rant, I checked my watch, frowning at the time. "Come on Kyle, we need to get to class."

"I fucking hate this Goddamn fucking shithole of a town! I want fucking _out_-"

"I know you do Ky, but class now yeah?" I beckoned him to follow, gesturing towards the changing rooms. Most of the class had already filed in, we were going to be some of the last ones there.

"I swear we live in the seventh circle of hell! I'm surrounded by _idiots_. Bigoted fucking _idiots_, all the fucking time-"

"I know Kyle, but gym class now. We're late."

"And I swear to _Abraham _if that fucking fatass says one more thing, _one more thing_, I'm going to roshambo him so _fucking _hard he'll need surgery to remove his nuts from his _throat_-"

"Just come on Ky, we're really fucking _late_!"

"Oh, fuck _off _Stan! I don't give a flying _fucking_ shit! Gym class has got to be _the_ most retarded, most pointless subject ever concocted! Who cares if we're late? Who cares if we _don't_ _go_? I can throw a ball just fine and so can _you_! Fuck, it's all so fucking pointless!"

I innovated some weird choking gasp, pointedly staring over Kyle's shoulder, pointedly staring at the approaching figure. Kyle didn't take the hint, he just continued to rant, rude and venomous. I just continued to gaze at Coach, watching him glare at Kyle with a mixture of hurt, anger, and reproach.

"Well Mr. Broflovski, it's good to know how you really feel."

Kyle spun around, coming face to face with Coach. For a second he just choked, all wide eyes and fear, before spitting out a violent cuss.

Kyle was cowering timidly, Coach was glairing daggers. He sent me to get changed, reluctantly I agreed, glancing at Kyle apologetically over my shoulder.

"Hey Stan, where's your wife?" Kenny was lacing his tattered and torn trainers, one leg cocked up on the splintering wooden bench. Everyone around us had finished changing, or nearly finished, anyway. Most of the guys had already filed into the gym, a few guys were hanging back, shouting at each other, trading insults and curses.

I just sighed, clicking open my locker and pulling out my kit. "He's getting rollocked by Coach."

"Really? What did he do?"

"He ranted about how pointless P.E. was, declaring it, and I quote 'the most pointless subject ever created' whilst Coach was standing, like, a foot behind him." I kicked off my shoes, pulling up the hem of my shirt.

Kenny laughed slightly, running his hands through his messy hair. "That's Kyle!"

"I just wish he would calm the fuck down. God it would make life easier sometimes."

"What's up with him anyway?"

I swallowed hard, glancing to the floor, tying the chords of my gym shorts. "I dunno. He's having trouble sleeping or something. You know how he gets when he'd tired."

"Hey faggot, where's the kike?"

"Fuck off lard tits."

"I'm only asking. Is he sick or something? Is he dying? Oh, please tell me he's dying again."

"I wish you were fucking dying."

"Oh _Raven_, I'm so _hurt_. Why don't you ram a dildo up your ass and write a poem about it? It'll make you feel better, I promise!"

Kyle exploded into the changing room with a bang, fury scrawled across his face, a bright pink detention slip clutched in his hand. Immediately the room went quiet, immidatly people began to hurry out, away from a raging Kyle, away from the storm. Well, everyone except Cartman, who just narrowed his piggy little eyes, a malicious, delighted grin splitting his face.

"Fuck _Jew_, Coach gave you detention? What the fuck did you do? Covert all his gold? Kiss his ass _too_ _hard_?"

Kyle clenched his jaw, balling his firsts at his side. I was at his side in a heartbeat, slipping my hand round his waist, pulling him back, ready to restrain him if needs be.

"Go drown in a pool of lard, you worthless piece of _shit_!"

Cartman smirked. "Ohhh, poor little Jewbitch is so _angry._ Is that nasty sand back in your vagina again?"

Kyle tried to lunge towards Cartman, catching himself on his frayed, too long hems. I caught him easily, pulling him upright, wrenching him away from trouble, away from a fight. He was yelling at Cartman, swearing and threatening, fighting to break away from me. Cartman just scoffed, hurriedly waddling away, spitting pathetic insults over his shoulder.

For a while we were silent, alone in the changing room, staring at the door Carman had slammed behind him. Minutes ticked by, and I knew I needed to take my hand off him, I knew I needed to let him go, go join the rest of the class, leave him to change alone. But fuck was I going to. Gently I began to tense and release my fingers, stroking him, petting his waist, his softly cocked hip.

Kyle's fragile chest was still heaving with anger, his fists were still balled, the detention slip still clutched between his fingers, crushed and creased now, torn and illegible. But I was shushing him, soothing him, and he was calming down. He relaxed his jaw, lowered his eyes, he began to look ashamed, he began to regret it, lament his actions.

Slowly, casually, still hushing him, I began to pull him closer, inching him slowly, almost as though if I was clandestine enough about it, if I was sneaky enough, he might not notice it, like I might be able to have my way with him without him even _realising _it.

He didn't resist. I managed to get him close enough to me, close enough for all my other senses to start going haywire, for this, for _whatever the fuck it was_ _I was actually trying to do_ to suddenly seem like a really good idea. Like a great, a really fucking _great_ idea. I wanted him closer to me, pushed up against me. I just, I just… I didn't know, whatever it was I was trying to do, I _wanted _it. It was the same emotion I'd felt at the concert, in the sports equipment cupboard, the same rush of hormones, the same intoxication, the same rush to do something stupid, something _dangerous_, the rush to do it _all_.

My breathing quickened, my heart hummed. All I wanted to do was press him against me, strip him bare, explore every line and shadow and dip and crease his body made. I wanted to map him, worship him, fucking _conquer_ him.

I could feel Kyle's breathing quicken, I watched his cheeks flush. Just a few more inches and I'd be pressing him against me. Just a few simple muscle contractions and I could render him shirtless, I could have him just how I wanted him. And he didn't seem to be resisting. He was close enough, close enough for me to catch the scent of his shampoo, close enough to drown me in the cloying aura of fabric softener, soap and _him_, I was loosing myself in brilliance, loosing myself, all emotions, all lust, all _Kyle_.

"Marsh!" The door crashed open and I wrenched myself off Kyle so fast you'd think he'd spontaneously combusted. Kyle leapt away from me, looking at me with shocked, terrified eyes, pale and uncertain.

I looked back at him, my eyes wide and ashamed. "I'm… I'm… Oh God, I'm so sorry!"

Then I was gone, tail latched between my legs, leaving him confused and uncertain and _wronged_. Leaving him alone, to undress and change alone.

* * *

A/N – Eheheh, I'm not so fond of this chapter, I went a bit off track and it's gone a bit wonky. But hey, we're about to breach the good parts now, the apexes of the story, the party scenes! Everything always gets shook up during the party scenes! Anyhoo, thank you thank you for reading, and for sticking with it during these weird, woolly parts, the sunrise is on the horizon, we're about to get it back on track. Thank you thank you thank you so so so so much for reviewing, I swear I loves them so much, loves loves loves! All warm and cookies and pretty sunny days!

Oh look, a South Park marathon on VIVA! Fluffing awesome!


	8. Kick The Baby

South Park winters were biting cold; it kinda really fucking sucks. Stomping through the snow to Kyle's house, I swear frostbite was desperate to steal one of my fingers or a toes or something. I swear it very nearly succeeded. I was beginning to regret not driving, but I wanted to drink. It was dangerous enough driving on South Park roads, let alone driving on them in icy weather, at night, and drunk. That was just asking for trouble.

Part of me had thought about skipping this party, spending the night at Denny's again, nursing my tepid bitter coffee, purging my thoughts into my notebook. Still, I was trying to convince everyone I was _fine_, and skipping a party to brood wasn't something someone who was fine would do. Besides, if Dylan tried to hit on me again, I'd probably feel compelled to jam my pen into my cerebral cortex.

Me and Kyle hadn't talked about what I'd been sort of trying to do in the changing room, hell, we hadn't talked at all. Not even tritely. The subject had become so unavoidable we'd decided the only way to avoid having to talk about it was to avoid talking at all. It might not be the best plan we'd ever concocted, but we'd certainly come up with worse.

Sighing, I hammered on the Broflovski's dark front door, hunching myself over for warmth. After some muffled shouting (courtesy of Mrs. Broflovski, her shrill tone practically echoed down the street) Ike answered the door, a very unimpressed look plastered across his face.

"Hello Ike, how are you?"

"Bored and disenfranchised, you?"

"Unimpressed and cynical, same as always." I paused for a second "Is Kyle ready to go then?"

"No, he's in the shower. Fell asleep or something retarded, told me to tell you he'd be ready soon."

"Will he be ready soon?"

"Fuck no, he still has to get dressed and do his _hair_. Princess has to look pretty for his little _date_, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut the fuck up dude."

"So" Ike smirked, standing aside to let me in, "what _film_ are you taking Kyle too?"

I paused for a heartbeat, my brain jarring. "I was going to let Kyle choose."

Ike just stared at me for a second, mouth slightly open. "What a faggy answer. Seriously Stan, I mean, Jesus Christ. If my mom asks, you might want to try Inception."

"Dude, they stopped screening that _ages_ ago, what the fuck?

"What can I say, Kyle's an awful liar."

"Probably because he doesn't do it often."

Ike raised his eyebrows. "He lies more then you know Stanley."

"Ike, Ike!" Mrs. Broflovski was screaming from the kitchen, her shrill tone caused Ike to flinch and me to start. "Who's at the door, bubbie?"

"It's just Stan, ma!"

"And you haven't invited him _in_? Don't just _leave him on the doorstep _Ike! Invite him in!"

"Yes ma!" Ike was frowning petulantly, standing aside to let me pass.

"Does he want anything to drink? Is he hungry?"

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Ike parroted, rather unnecessarily.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"No thanks, he's fine!" Ike yelled towards the kitchen.

"Is he sure?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"He's sure!"

"Well alright then, get him something if he wants it, okay bubbie?"

"Yes ma!" Ike threw himself down on the sofa, glaring at back at the TV. I just followed him, sitting down and lounging back, listening to the hum of the shower echo through the house.

For a moment we were quiet, just watching some shitty news report, something tediously dull and very right wing. Something intrinsically Ike. Once the commercials began to play, Ike looked across at me, piercing and dangerous. "Hey, Stan? Have you and Wendy got back together yet?"

I tensed my jaw. "No. I think she wants to though. We probably will before too long."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Just because Ike, just because."

Ike paused for a second, rubbing his chin. He had a strong chin, a strong jaw line, low cheekbones, wiry face, vaguely flappy, very dark. He really did look nothing like Kyle; it wasn't surprising considering their differing lineages, but still. Kyle was narrower and softer and far, far more regal. And far, far more colourful. "What did you like best about Wendy Stan?"

I frowned, "Dude, if you want dating advice, go ask your brother."

"My brother's retarded. I'm asking you."

I sighed, rubbing my face. I really didn't want to do this right now. "I dunno. Her fight? Her strength? Her passion. The way she takes up a cause with vigour, the way she doesn't let anybody push her around. The way she doesn't feel like she has to follow the fads or change herself to fit in…"

"The ways in which she's exactly like Kyle, you mean? Not her heart, not her soppy romantic ideals, not the way she wears her hair or the way she dresses, not her shrewd business mind or her feminine lure. You love the all the stupid things you see in her that remind you of Kyle."

I balked, my eyes going wide. "What the hell do you mean?"

"That you've wanted to fuck my brother for a very long time? That now you've actually managed to fuck him you're being a retard and messing him about? If you want to keep fucking him, please, do me a favour and keep fucking him. Bang him right up, fix him good and proper. If you _don't _want to keep fucking him, then for the love of God, _fucking tell him_!"

"Dude, you're like, eleven! Shut the fuck up! You're too young to know anything about this! I haven't fucked your brother!"

"I'm not stupid Stan. In fact, I'm actually rather clever. I knew about all this shit before even you did. Hell, I knew about all this shit when I was still in kindergarten. I had a very hands-on teacher, after all." He paused to smile slightly. "Besides, I care about my brother, I care enough to know when something's changed."

"So you notice something different in Kyle and you just assume I've fucked him? What the hell, Ike?" I tried to make it sound as incredulous as possible, which wasn't all that hard. I just channelled all my raw fear.

"Someone's fucked him, and considering the lack of high-fives and bravado surrounding it, it obviously wasn't a chick."

"And what, it's either a chick or me?"

"No, of course not. He's just a pathetic fucking mess at the moment, I mean, Christ, I don't think he's slept properly in about a _fortnight_. I assumed you were the only one he cared about enough to put him in this state. That and you're a mess too, what with this" he pulled a grimace, waving his hand up and down my outfit, clearly less then impressed, "pathetic Raven thing. You don't need to be a genius to put two and two together."

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the insult. "What do you mean he's a mess? He's _fine_."

Ike just gave me the most unimpressed glare. "He's a mess, he's doing what Kyle does when he's a mess. He's panicking, lashing out, and he's dangerously close to giving in. Someone's fucked him, and someone's fucking him up, I'm pretty sure only you have that much power over him."

I scoffed, for real, at that. "I'm pretty sure I don't have any power over Kyle. In case you haven't noticed, Kyle's not the most submissive of all the little darlings. He's never done what I've told him to before, not when I'm telling him to take his fucking feet off my dashboard, not when I'm telling him to leave the fucking cult and just come _the fuck_ home. He just doesn't ever listen to me, not ever."

"Just because he's a stubborn retard doesn't mean he doesn't listen to you; it just means he hates being told what to do. Besides, you have more power over him then you realise Stan."

"Whatever. That doesn't mean I've-I've fucked him, Ike."

Ike just continued to look at me, all piercing darkness and dangerous intelligence. "Well if it wasn't you, it must have been that McCormick kid, that one my mom doesn't like. And you're just, what?" he gestured at my outfit again "Grieving for your lost love? Must say I'm a bit surprised you lost out so easily, you always seemed so very determined you'd never let him go."

My face tingled, meaning I'd either flushed or paled. "Why the hell would you think Kenny had fucked Kyle? Why the fuck does anyone have to have fucked Kyle?"

Ike gave me his patented 'you're a fucktard' look. "Because that's life, and someone _has_ fucked Kyle. Hell, it could have been _anyone_, you all seem so fucking smitten with him. God knows why, mind you. Kyle's not pretty, and he's not all that smart. He's really nothing special."

I was sure I flushed this time, Ike was trying my patience. "Kyle's plenty special you little shit. And he hasn't goddamn fucked Kenny!"

Ike smirked. "I know. I'm sure Kenny'd do all the fucking. Kyle's too short and too pathetically rubenesque to get away with topping anybody. I'm pretty sure he's condemned to a life of having his unspectacular face rammed into a pillow during every act of coitus he's lucky enough to partake in."

I shut my eyes, pained and slow. No one, no one in the whole goddamn world would ever want to ram Kyle's face into a pillow. I'm pretty sure Kyle would have a fit if anybody ever tried ramming his face into a pillow. That just wasn't how you fucked Kyle, you'd never be so callous. Hell, you'd never really _fuck_ Kyle anyway, you… As gay as it sounds, you make love to Kyle.

"Ike, just shut the fuck up, yeah? Shut the fuck up before I kick you. We're fucking talking about my _best_ _friend_ here."

I felt him smirk, I could feel him radiating smugness from across the sofa. "Your Super Best Friend, Stanley?"

I clenched my teeth. "My Super Best Friend Ike, yes."

"Do you love him, Stan?"

The tone of his voice surprised me, I opened my eyes to look at him. He was staring at me, jaw tight, fingers arched, suddenly very serious.

"Of course I fucking love him Ike, of course I do."

"Stan, I'm not fucking stupid. You fucked my brother, and now he's all messed up and not acting like Kyle." He was speaking low and fast, his face inches away from mine. "And I don't like it, so you'd better make this fucking right before it gets too late, before he gives up or before you loose him for good, okay?"

"Ike, what the fuck are you doing?"

I yelled and fell of the sofa, Ike started and glanced to the door. Kyle was standing there, freshly showered, arms crossed. I was staring at him, bug eyed and terrified, Ike was glaring at him petulantly.

Kyle held out his hands, glaring at Ike. "Dude, don't fuck with my friends yeah?"

"I wasn't fucking with him. We were just _talking_."

"Then why is he so jittery?"

"Your ugly face is enough to make anyone jittery."

"Wow Ike, original."

"Well, I try."

I was still staring at him, my heart racing and my face flushing. Kyle's noticed this, and his eyebrows dipped in concern. "Do I look stupid or something?"

He looked like Kyle always does, soft, worn t-shirt and soft, worn chords. He'd tucked his hems into a pair of snow boots, anticipating the walk down. It was function over fashion, but then Kyle was usually function over fashion. Kyle didn't need fashion, fashion was redundant when it came to Kyle.

It was his hair though, his hair was tripping me. It was still damp from the shower, muted, darker, occasional drips forming at the ends. Just like that night in Denver, that night he'd been soaking wet with concert skank. That night I'd started this all.

"You look fine." I lied. He looked more then fine. He looked a lot more then fine. "You just startled me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are we going then?"

I hesitated, glancing at the window. "Dude, it's like, minus a billion degrees out there. We'll go once your hair's dry."

Kyle gave me an unimpressed look. "Dude, my hair takes fucking _years_ to dry. Let's just go."

"You'll catch a chill. I'm not going to let you get sick."

"Fuck Stan, you worry more then my _mother_."

I frowned at him, crossing my arms across my chest. "Just go blow-dry it or something."

"Dude, _I am not_ going to blow-dry my hair."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll _explode_. Jesus, it's bad enough when it's just fluffy, you don't want to see it exploded." He paused slightly, fingering a damp strand, "Besides, do you know how bad heat is for hair? I don't want to dry it out. My ends'll split. I _don't_ _want_ split ends Stan!" He whined, somewhat rather impertinently.

My lip quirked. "Don't be precious."

"But I _am_ precious. Don't you think I'm precious?"

I grinned, pulling him into a rough, one-armed hug. "God, you're so much more amenable when you've slept, you know."

"I know."

"My _God_!," Ike was glaring at us impudently, his arms crossed across his chest. "You two are such fucking _fags_."

No matter how old Ike gets, no matter how tall or how whatever, I'm pretty sure he'll never be too old for kick the baby.

* * *

A/N – FanFic went all weird on me the other day, it started erroring me every time I tried to log in and it all went a bit tilty when I tired to update. I thought I'd broken it or something, I was all "lulwutohfluffinpink". But hey, all good now (touch wood, touch touch touch a lot of wood!) So yay!

Anyways, thank you thank you for reading. Uber uber thank you thank you for reviewing, so love love lovely and adorabillabuddy! Ich adore it, ich adore it all!


	9. You Know I Do

By the time Kyle's hair had dried, or at least dried enough for me to relent and allow him outside, we were running late. Bluffing our way through a very awkward conversation with Mrs. Broflovski, bluffing though a discussion involving the details of our supposed trip to the movies, fakely musing about the film we were planning on seeing, if we were going to get to eat, what time we should be back, we eventually gave in and bolted out the house, terrified Mrs. Broflovski was about to demand a written itinerary from us.

"God, we're going to be _late_." Kyle whined, kicking up clumps of icy snow.

"Oh my God, arriving _late _to a _party_? What an _awful_ social _faux pas_! However will we get over the _shame_?" I deadpanned back at him, causing him to grimace.

"Dude, _I know_, but I wanted to be there on time, I wanted time to get drunk."

"I assure you, you'll have time to get drunk."

"I mean really, really drunk, like piss in the wind, forget my own name _drunk_."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, it's a _great_ idea."

Sighing, I reached across, beginning to fiddle with a strand of his hair, frowning at the still-slight dampness of it. After five minutes of waiting for it to air dry (and Kyle's adamant shunning of the hairdryer) I'd tried towel drying it, patting the wiry fluff roughly, trying to dab the water out. I'd patted at him for fifteen minutes and it hadn't made the slightest bit of difference. I frowned; Kyle seemed to spend his life permanently damp in some way. Rain soaked, snow wetted, sleeted on, shower fresh, spilt liquids, sweat, he always found himself damp.

"Dude, get _off_ me." He was swatting my hand away, patting his strand of auburn fuzz back into place.

"Jeez Kyle, you're so _whiney_ all the time!"

"I'm not _whiney_!"

"You are though." I paused for a whisper, before deciding to push my luck. "Just like your mother."

Kyle tensed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Careful _Stanley_, you're stomping across thin ice now."

I faked innocence, all wide eyes and open mouthed. "But _Kylie_, you're the _spit_ of your mother! All _venomous_ and _snappy_ and _little_ and _Jewish _and all_ Jersey_, you have the _same nose_, _same stature_, not to mention the _same wa-_"

Kyle cut me off with a right hook, one I deflected with my shoulder. Laughing slightly, I lunged for both his hands, catching his wrists, trying to hold him still. Kyle was wily though, and after a brief little scuffle, despite his short little stature, despite me outweighing him, despite attempts to capture him, Kyle somehow had me on the floor, foot deep in a snowdrift.

He just knelt over me, holding up a finger, firm and warning. "There will be _no more_ comparing me to _my mother_. Do you understand?"

"Please" reaching up, I quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down, "you know I'm only _messing _with you."

"I know you're being _rude_ to me."

"You like it when I'm rude to you."

"I like it when _nice_ to me."

"I'm always nice to you."

"You just compared me to my _mother_. That's _not_ being nice!"

Grinning, I swatted at him, watching him dodge the hit, "Dude, just get off me! I'm going to catch hypothermia lying in this snow drift."

By the time we arrived, the party was heaving. People were staggering in and out the front door, all noise, all drunken get go. For a while we mingled, drinking heavy and fast, our conversations short and pointless. I lost track of Kyle part way through a venomous debate with Token over the perfect starting play, but it didn't really register. It didn't register until Token was gone, whipped away by Craig to assist in a keg stand. It didn't register until I started missing him.

Hazily I checked around a bit, staggering through the den, the kitchen, refilling my cup before I stumbled upstairs, checking through rooms eccentrically, looking for Kyle. Eventually I stumbled back into the living room, catching myself on the corner of the carpet, nearly tripping over.

After steadying my footing, I glanced up, catching sight of Kyle. He was standing in the corner, laughing freely, one arm slung round Kenny's shoulders, the other held up in a very unsteady gesture. Kenny was laughing too, clutching Kyle's hips to keep him steady, keep him close and upright. I swallowed painfully. Something about the way Kenny was laughing with him, the way Kenny was holding him, the way Kyle had slung an arm round him, something about the way they were so close, all laughter and eye contact, something about that was wrong, painful and clawing at me.

I turned away, busying myself with the keg. Craig was manning it, somewhat overenthusiastically. Or as overenthusiastic as Craig got, anyway. It wasn't so much enthusiasm as a slightly elevated state of misery, but that was the most Craig could manage.

Wendy was standing across the room, all sheeny tights shortish skirt. She was talking to Bebe, a blue cup clutched in her narrow fingered hand. She glanced up at me and smiled, I just swallowed hard and turned away. I knew I needed to start socialising again, but I really didn't feel like it anymore. I didn't feel like doing anything anymore, doing anything that wasn't running home and sleeping.

Dylan was leaning against the doorframe, all darkness and clichés. I caught his gaze accidentally, he just grinned, starting to clink over to me. Dimly I cursed myself; if he was here I could have easily gone to Denny's, I could have easily gone to brood and write. I could have brooded and written in uninterrupted lonely bliss, all pathetic Raven misery, all pointlessness.

"Hello Raven, fancy seeing you here." He smirked out, somewhat self-satisfied. In the dimness of Bebe's front room, his acidic hair was muted, his skin cast in vaguely romantic shadows. Dimness and dusky defiantly suited him better then florescent and unforgivable.

"Hello Dylan, how are you?"

"I'm hurt Raven, I'm hurt and neglected. Just like a fading ghost, forgotten in a corner, left to bathe in dust and death." He spoke through the clichés with overacted melodrama, all showmanship and fauxity.

I deadpanned a glare at him. "Why?"

"You never called. Raven, I'm disappointed; I expected a call and I was disappointed. Disappointed with the lies and broken promises of life."

"Oh, quit hamming it up Dylan, you're not _that _pathetic. And what can I say? I haven't got bored of the conformists yet."

"Clearly. You and your boyfriend have been boning each other rather graphically for the past few weeks." Dylan smirked again, taking a sip from his cup. "He's a wrenched, prissy thing when he wants to be, isn't he?"

I frowned. "He's not my boyfriend, and what do you mean?"

"His recent demeanour, all pissed off and scrappy? Fuck Raven, give me some credit, you two are hardly discreet. What's wrong with the little conformist princess anyway? Is he flunking a class? Are the other kids being mean to him _again_?"

I pursed my lips, looking away from him. "He's just been tired is all. And careful Dylan, I will punch you if you keep up like that."

"Oh, so _touchy_, standing up for your woman. How cliché. Still" he paused to take another swig, and I absently mirrored him, "he can't be too bad today, not if you finally let him off his leash. Either that or your patience _finally_ fucking gave."

"I never had him on any kind of leash, and he's _fine_." I took another gulp of liquid, fast and thick, nearly draining my cup.

"Oh, I know he's _fine_. I know you're _fine_. I know the whole damn world's just _fine_. Here." Dylan was pushing another cup into my hand. I wasn't quite sure where he'd got it from, but this one wasn't beer. It was stronger and biting, burning my larynx on contact.

"Fuck Dylan, that's some pretty heavy shit."

"You ain't no pussy Raven, you can handle it."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me! And you're never nice to _anyone_."

"That's not true. I'm nice to the people I like. Don't go confusing misery for hatred Raven."

"Well whatever" I paused, taking a long draught of burning ethanol, "still think it's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Well perhaps you should hang out at Denny's more. I could say a multitude of _nice_ things to you there."

I quirked an eyebrow. My mind had gone fuzzy from too much drink mixing and drink drinking. I wasn't really sure what was going on anymore; I was just sort of acting on autopilot. "Perhaps I should."

The corner of Dylan's lip twitched. "Perhaps you should kiss me now then."

"Perhaps-"

"Stanny!" Kyle nearly pulled me off my feet, tackling me from the side, wrapping his arms round my neck. His shortarse stature pulled me into a stoop, kinking my neck and jarring my spine.

"Hey Ky! There you are!" Automatically my hands were clutching at his study little frame, trying to hold him steady, trying to keep myself steady, I wasn't quite sure. Dylan snorted derisively, and Kyle tensed.

"What are you talking to _him_ for?" He addressed it to me, still pressed rather pleasingly against me, glaring petulantly at Dylan over my shoulder.

Dylan just raised his eyebrows , the same unimpressed, emotionless look he always bore still glued across his face. "Rude little shit, aren't you Broflovski? Didn't your bitch of a mom ever teach you any _manners_?"

Kyle's jaw set, his frame tensing against mine. "Didn't your pissant of a dad ever teach you how to take at _hint_?"

"He taught me never to give up when it was something I _really wanted_."

"Shame he didn't teach you how dress properly. This whole" Kyle gestured drunkenly, grimacing overdramatically, clutching me tighter for stability "_tacky_ _emo_ shit has really gotten old. It's just so pathetically _conformist _now."

Dylan stiffened, the corner of his mouth twitching, the fingers round his cup tensing. "Ram it up your _fat_ _arse_ Broflovski." I growled slightly (because no one gets to insults Kyle's arse) but Dylan was already stalking away, throwing his (still half full) cup to the ground as he went. Kyle just lunged forward slightly, nearly tripping himself over in his desperation to shoot Dylan the bird.

"Dude," I was laughing, catching his wrists, pulling him off me, holding him steady, "you're such a fucking _bitch_."

"Please!" He was grinning at me, leaning into me. I was carefully holding him steady, my eyes locked into his. "You know you love it!"

My lip quirked; "You know I do."

* * *

A/N – Kyle is perfect little coxboxer, and perfect little bitch! And Stan is easy/oblivious (I don't even know) when drunk! But yay! Ploxstuff is here! It marks the beginning of the end! Anyway, thank you again for reading, thank you for following and thank you for all that jazz. I hopes you are liking it! Thank you thank you thank you sosososososo much for reviewing, is lovely and wonderful and makes me feel all warm and yay like melted chocolate or toast or melty Nutella on toast (damn, think I just made myself hungry). Anyway, loves loves loves it.

AND YAY! SAVANNA! YOU'RE BACK! I MISSED YOU! Echy, FanFic is being really really _weird_, all glitchy and error messagey and not updating my chapters and stuff. Ah well, we shall persevere and candyfloss and stuff! Yay!


	10. Passed Clean Out

Kyle just grinned at me, swaying slightly, all unsturdy footing and misplaced certainty. He was loosely clutching at me, holding handfuls of my t-shirt, gripping creases into the jersey. I didn't know what he was trying to do, keep himself steady, keep me steady, but then I don't think he knew either, so it didn't much matter. He really was very drunk, almost completely and utterly past it, already completely and utterly hammered. A sober moment gripped me, clearing my own buzz, nudging my common sense awake.

Frowning slightly, I gripped his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. "You be careful, yeah? Don't drink too much. I don't want to have to take you to Hells Pass. Your mom'd pop a fucking blood vessel."

"Relax Stan, I'll be careful!" He lied in a tone of voice that let me know that being careful was the last thing he intended on doing.

I lost him again an hour or two later. I was sitting on the floor in a corner, my back pushed against a wall, a cup of beer clutched in my hand. He was whispering around me, talking incessantly, laughing, smiling, all real, all Kyle. I remember enjoying myself, I remember him sitting by my side, our shoulders pushed together as we talked: then he was above me, dancing about, then kneeling next to me, his face driven wonderfully into my throat as he whined about something. At one point he was crouching gracelessly in front of me, gesturing wildly, angry. Kenny was there for quite a while. Cartman came too, but only for five or so minutes. I remember telling Craig to go fuck himself, I remember swearing violently at Token. A string of names and faces flitted about, drifting in and out of our illucid conversation.

Then Kyle was sitting roughly on my lap, kneeling over my thighs, his elbows on my shoulders, his face turned to the door. He was talking about something, something quite serious, judging by the look on his face. Truth was I had no idea what he was saying. I think it was about penguins, or orca whales, some Antarctic creature, but I can't remember. I was talking back to him, equally as seriously, probably half as eloquently. I had my hands on his hips, holding him steady, kneading him slightly. Then he was gone. Pulled away by Kenny, probably off to find more alcohol.

I sat there for quite a while, drinking infrequently, sobering up enough to lament his absence. After half an hour of patchy, random conversations I found myself pretty clear headed, my buzz all but muted. For a moment I vainly waited for Kyle to come back, just randomly wander back into my lap; before too long restlessness had forced me to my feet.

Exhaling, I calmly brushed off my jeans, picking some carpet fluff off the denim.

"Hello Stan." I froze, still bent over, my hands still on my thighs.

"Hello Wendy, what do you want?" I addressed the carpet, adamantly refusing to look at her.

"I'm just… I just wanted to say sorry for snapping at you the other day. It's completely okay if you don't feel like talking about what's upsetting you. I understand we don't have to share everything."

"Well, thank you for the apology," I straightened up, staring pointedly over her shoulder "now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find Kyle."

Immediately she shot out a hand, catching my arm. "Just… Just one more thing Stan."

Blinking, I finally met her gaze, shooting her an emotionless glare. She looked nervous, chewing on her lip, her fluffy sweater covered shoulders quivering slightly. She was still pretty sober, a little flushed, a little shaky, a little tipsy, but perfectly cogent and coherent. Wendy wasn't like Kyle, she was never the sort to trash herself.

"What do you want, Wendy?"

"I think… I think we should get back together Stan. We're good together, I really think we can make it work."

I groaned, tilting my head away from her. "Oh, stop it Wendy! We're only going to break up again in a few months!"

"So? We always get back together again too. That's just how we are, we're _emotional_. Like Romeo and Juliet."

"No Wendy, just no! Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being _stupid_. Stan, we're meant to be together!"

"If we were meant to be together, we'd still be together! Wendy, I think it's time we _stopped_ all this now."

"Okay then. We won't break up again. This time, this time we'll be for real."

"No, I'm-I'm not getting back with you Wendy. Not this time."

"But… But you're _mine_."

"I'm not fucking _yours_. I'm not fucking _anybodys_." I lied. Because I was Kyle's, I'd always fucking be Kyle's.

"No! You're _mine_…" Wendy was leaning into me, pushing me back against a wall, trapping me with her hands. I was leaning back from her, trying to gently shoo her off me, wriggle out of her grasp and get away. She wasn't having any of it though. She was determined, adamant she'd get what she wanted. I felt the sudden, uncomfortable swell of anxious, uneasy nausea deep in my gut, the sudden vertigo causing me to gasp sharply.

Automatically I jerked my head away from her, she caught my suddenly exposed throat. Undeterred, she began to suck, weakly trying to mark me, trying to reaffirm her position as my girlfriend. Trying to start the whole charade up again.

But it meant nothing to me, because Kyle was there. Kyle was there, leaning heavily against the door, watching me, us, with an expression marred with too many emotions. He was angry, God, even from across the room I could tell he was angry, but he was hurt too, hurt and scared and dejected and tired and drunk. And broken. And I couldn't bear it.

Gracelessly, carelessly and unceremoniously, I shoved Wendy away from me, not waiting to help her, not waiting to see if she was okay. She called after me, but I was already across the room, I was already gripping Kyle's arm, already ignoring his slurred murmurs. Then before I knew it I'd pulled him outside, pulled him away from Bebe's house, pulled him away from it all.

It took a few houses before he managed to break away from me, pulling his arm back, nearly bringing himself down. I managed to catch him, keeping him steady, setting him back upright.

"Come on Kyle, I need to get you home."

"No." He was shaking his head, whispering it. "No, no."

"Yeah, yes. I need to get you home. You're too drunk and it's too cold. Come on." I went to take his arm again, but he lurched out the way, looking at me wide eyed and frightened.

"No." He was slurring, still shaking his head, still nearly overbalancing.

"Yeah Kyle, come on."

"No!"

I looked at him, narrowing my eyes with concern. But he wasn't looking at me, not properly, not with eye contact. He was staring at my throat, at my jugular. At the spot Wendy had been trying to claim as hers.

"No… No. No." He was still slurring, completely, utterly hammered. He clutched the cuff of his heavy knitted sweater over his hand, he wetted it, then he was rubbing at the spot on my neck Wendy had been attached to, dabbing at it and brushing it, trying to clean it. Cleanse it of her.

I caught his hands before he could go at it again, gently holding him away from me, holding him still.

"Kyle-Kyle, you're okay, yeah? Leave it, it's all okay."

Drunkenly he shook his head, pulling his hands out of my grasp, nearly overbalancing as he did.

"No. No it's not."

"It is, yeah? It's all oka-"

He cut me off, pressing the wetted, sleeve-covered hand against my mouth, leaning up and catching my throat, covering whatever weak, pathetic mark Wendy had made with a very determined, very adamant one of his. I gasped against his sleeve, clutching his ribs, whimpering his name. He murmured against me, steadying himself with his other hand, his mouth still latched against my neck.

I knew I needed to break him off me, I knew he was too drunk, way, way too drunk to know what he was doing, to be in the right state of mind for this. But try as I might, I couldn't force up enough willpower to push him off, to upset him like that, I couldn't will myself to break away.

He stopped it when he was ready, looking up at me, flushed, determined, completely hammered.

"Tell me you can't do it."

I was panting slightly, breathing thick and heavy. "Tell you I can't do what?"

"Tell me we can't be just friends. Tell me."

I whined slightly, pulling away from him, pushing my head against the bricks behind me.

"Fucking tell me Stan!" Kyle was swaying, I automatically reached out a hand to steady him. I don't think he registered the contact. "_Tell_ _me_!"

"_Don't Kyle, just don't_."

"Yes!

"Look, if you want me to leave you alone, _I'll leave you alone_. If you want me never to talk to you again, _I won't ever talk to you again_. You _know_ that."

"No!" He was pushing his sleeve against my mouth, shushing me, wavering slightly. "Just, just _no_! Dude, how fucking stupid _are_ you?"

"Nowhere near as drunk as you, I can assure you of that!" I huffed through the fabric, somewhat defensively.

And then he was driving his face into my neck, his fingers pulling at the hem of my t-shirt, knotting themselves in the fabric. And then my jugular was wet, and I realised Kyle was kissing me, biting me, messy, drunken kisses, licks, nuzzles.

And then I began to realise, well, hope, that perhaps, perhaps Kyle didn't want me to leave him alone after all. That perhaps he didn't want to forget about it. That perhaps he'd let me do _it_ again. That perhaps all this was a little fucked up. That perhaps all this was a little fucked up, and perhaps, just perhaps, that made me the luckiest fucking ducky in the whole damn bathtub.

Then in a heartbeat Kyle had slumped heavily against me, barely giving me time to catch him as he passed clean out.


	11. We'd Be Alright

Passed out, Kyle was dead weight. He was fucking heavy, alcohol saturated dead weight. Clutching him to my chest, I slid down the wall, my footing rendered frictionless by a delightful mix of greying slush and icy snow. For a second I just groaned, icy wetness dampening the seat of my jeans as I buried my face into Kyle's hair, inhaling him, trying to wake him back up. After a few minutes desperate geeing, it became painfully apparent Kyle wasn't going to make this easy for me. He'd make whiney murmurs, he'd shift occasionally, but he was refusing to regain consciousness.

Staggering to my feet, I pulled him back up, clutching him against me. I needed to get him home, get him to bed; I'd need to carry him, that much was obvious. A fireman's carry would be easiest, but it was so _graceless_, graceless and sort of rough. Bridal-style was more caring, but it was kinda faggy, and a bit awkward. And very awkward to explain, if anyone saw us.

I couldn't take him back to his house, that much I knew. Getting him to bed would be too tricky, too cumbersome, too fucking impossible. Mrs. Broflovski would hear us in a heartbeat, and if Mrs. Broflovski ever found out about this, ever saw Kyle in some alcohol induced stupor, shit would go down, shit would go down _big style_.

Exhaling, I wrenched Kyle against me, pulling him up, cradling him bridal-style. He was heavy, he was fucking deceptively heavy, but what else could I do? Cursing at him, silently thanking Coach for all those years of intensive quarterback training, I staggered back onto the pavement, very nearly loosing my footing on the slush. Kyle just murmured something against me, pushing his face against my chest, gripping at my sweater. He was being sort of cute, and if my arms didn't feel like they were being wrenched from my sockets, I might have sort of enjoyed it.

Shakily, painfully, I lugged him down what felt like the _longest_ fucking street in the whole goddamn _universe_, nearly loosing my footing a couple of times, nearly dropping him once. Eventually I was staggering up my driveway, fumbling about in some ridiculously impressive, sort of impossible jugging act that saw me unlock my front door whilst simultaneously not dropping him. I think the process saw me dislocate a shoulder. And Kyle didn't even bat a drunken, passed out eyelid.

Sighing, I thumped heavily up the staircase, nearly missing steps in the darkness, struggling to find my room in the dusk. Finally I fell through my bedroom door, _finally_ I placed him down on my bed, neatly laying on my blankets, desperately ignoring the pain in my arms. He murmured something, smiling in his sleep, shifting onto his side, gripping my pillow. I just knelt on the floor, clutching my shoulder, groaning in pain.

There really wasn't enough room on that bed for both of us, not with him sprawling out like that, not with him being so Kyleish. Besides, it would be sort of weird, clambering into bed with him. We haven't done that since the joys of wet dreams were bestowed upon us. Glancing about, I didn't find the floor all that appealing either. I guess that left the battered downstairs sofa, it was sort of old and creaky, but it promised more comfort then the carpet.

Standing back up, I frowned down at Kyle, watching him murmur in his sleep. The moonlight was streaming though my window, dusky and cold. He looked vaguely transparent, all shadows and moonlight and darkness; it was unnerving me, but I wasn't all too sure why. Reaching down, I brushed his hair out of his face, pulling it back, gently running my thumb across his cheek. He really was quite wonderful: regal, delicate masculinity, firm featured, deceptive softness, all wretched, all painfully, painfully _Kyle_.

I ghosted a kiss against his cheek, causing him to moan and shift. Then I was gone, pulling the door too, jumping back down the stairs. Stretching out my shoulders (my arms still racked with agony) I hooked up the throw blanket, awkwardly collapsing on the beat up sofa. The couch complained loudly at the sudden six foot intrusion, but I really didn't care. Shifting about, inadvertently eliciting more creaks and groans, I got myself comfortable (or as comfortable as I could with a fucking myriad of springs impaling my hips) shutting my eyes, slipping out of consciousness.

xxx

xxx

xxx

"Hey Stan."

Blinking sleep out my eyes, I managed to pull myself up, yawning as I did. According to the DVD player, hours had passed. According to my aching body, the couch didn't like being slept on.

"Hey dad, what are you doing up?"

"Oh, I just came to get myself a snack, and, you know, tell you that your boyfriends throwing up in our bathroom. How much did he have to drink?"

I groaned, clutching the bridge of my nose. "He's not my fucking boyfriend, and I'm not sure. Too much apparently. I fucking told him to be careful." Sighing, I threw off my blanket, staggering to my feet. "I'll go sort him out, don't worry."

"Alright. Do you want me to make you anything to eat?"

"No thanks, I'll be fine."

Kyle was on his knees in the bathroom, his pale, shaking hands clutching the toilet seat, his head jammed into the bowl as he retched painfully. Sighing, I fell to my knees next to him, pulling his hair out of his face with one hand, using the other to soothingly rub his back, hushing him as I did.

He was whimpering slightly, sort of pathetically. I bit my lip, still shushing him, still rubbing his back. He retched again, and I winced in sympathy.

"God Kyle, you're becoming quite the little lush you know."

He laughed weakly, bitterly, head still jammed down the bowl. "I know."

I sighed weakly, Kyle just retched again. After a few more dry heaves, he paused, sitting on his back haunches, absently wiping his mouth. I smiled wearily at him, sitting back against the wall, resting my arms on my knees and my head against the tiles.

"You alright d-" I choked. I'd nearly called him darling, I nearly let that slip. I managed to wrench it back just in time, turning it into a cough. "You alright Ky?"

"Yeah, I think so. I just-" he gestured absently with one hand "I just drank too much, I guess."

I rolled my eyes. "Brilliant deduction Sherlock. Still, you feeling better now?"

"I… I think so. Still a little-a little queasy."

"Okay. We'll just wait it out then."

For a second he nodded, before biting out "You could have at least taken off my _shoes_, Stan."

"I could have left you passed out in a snowdrift, _Kyle_."

"You wouldn't have done that. You _care_ about me too much to do that."

"Feelings are irrelevant. You're _really fucking_ _heavy_ dude."

"Should I be offended at that? I think I'm offended. Fuck you, douche."

I smiled. "Love you too, Ky."

He laughed, one hand hovering over his mouth. After a little while he just gasped out "So… So are you and Wendy back on, then?"

I sighed, shutting my eyes for a second, tilting my head back, away from him. "I don't know, I mean, I really don't count a drunken proposition and a pathetic attempt at a hickey as anything solid." I said. Somewhat meaningfully.

He didn't even flinch at that, I just bit my lip. There was a good chance he didn't remember. He'd been several flags to the wind, so there was a really good chance he didn't remember. That kind of sucked.

"Are…" he gulped slightly, leaning back towards the cistern, his fingers tightening around the ridge of the toilet seat, "Are you going to get back on with her?"

I winced at the question. "I…" I paused, thinking. "I don't know."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Kyle paused for a second, breathing heavily. He wasn't looking at me, he hadn't looked at me in ages; it smacked a bit of déjà vu. He was staring fixedly at the toilet instead. I leant forwards, thinking he was going to start retching again.

"I-I… I don't want you to get back on with her." He said it thickly, almost breathily, still addressing Mr. Toilet Bowl.

My eyebrows quirked up. "Really?"

"Yeah. I don't want you to. You deserve better then her."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

I paused for a second, just watching him, watching adamantly refuse to look at me.

"Then I won't get back on with her."

He glanced up sharply, I just continued to watch him.

"Really?"

I smiled at him, weakly, exhausted, but as warm as I could. "Yeah."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

For a second we just stared at each other, drinking in the angst and pathos and pathetic fucking hopelessness. There were a million things we should have said then, a million things I should have told him. But I didn't, I couldn't bring myself to tell him anything, not one thing. It was cowardice, sheer fucking cowardice.

"Dude?" Kyle broke our silent anguish, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against the cold ceramic of the toilet cistern.

"Yeah?"

"Go get me something to eat."

I frowned. "Seriously dude? You're fucking hungry _now_? That's just… That's just so fucking _wrong_."

"Dude, _no_. My blood sugar's gone weird. I think I'm about to pass out."

"God Kyle, you really are so fucking _stupid _sometimes."

"I'm stupid a lot of the time. But you have your moments too, so it's all okay, Mr. _Beaver Dam_."

My lip quirked slightly, but it was more concern then anything else. "What do you want me to get you?"

"I dunno, I don't _care_, just get me some coke or juice or _whatever_, yeah?"

"Alright princess, unbunch your panties now."

He just flipped me off in a very lacklustre manner. Exhaling, I pulled myself to my feet, quickly brushing off my jeans. Kyle was watching me with one eye lidded, his hand loosely pressed against his face. Reaching out, I slipped my arm round his ribs, pulling him back, pressing a soft kiss against his auburn fluff. He murmured something, but I didn't catch it, and he didn't bother repeating it. Sighing, I just patted his shoulder, telling him I'd be right back, reassuring him he'd be alright.

Reassuring him we'd be alright.


	12. The Way It Should Be

By the time Kyle's hangover had muted enough for the short drive home, it was already passed 4am. He was languid in the car, drooping against the seat, complaining about his headache. I'd make occasional sympathetic noises, nodding and humming on cue, not really paying him much attention. It was getting really icy on the roads now. And driving in the dark on the icy roads was sort of an effort. I decided I'd ask my dad if he had any spare tyre chains; if he did, I'd ask him to help me put them on tomorrow. It might make driving a bit safer.

Tensing my jaw, I pulled up across the street from Kyle's house, careful not to skid. Kyle immediately unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt out the car, wordlessly expecting me to follow. He always expected me to follow, mostly because I always relented and followed. It felt like I should do something about that. By the time I managed to fight my way through the snow and across the street Kyle was already standing in his yard, frowning up at his bedroom window. I cleared my throat, striding up next to him. He barely even glanced at me.

"What are you going to do? Try sneak upstairs?"

"Fuck no." He was speaking low and quiet. Sort of like how you talk in a church. "My mom has the hearing of a bat. Imma gonna try climb up the drainpipe."

"Really? Is that _really_ such a good idea?"

"Relax Stan, I'll be fine."

"I'm more worried about the drainpipe."

Kyle pursed his lips. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

Exhaling pointedly, Kyle cracked his knuckles, walking up to the wall, overdramatically gripping the plastic tubing. For a while I just watched him, I just watched him try to scale the side of his house, a slight smile quirking my lips. You could call Kyle a lot of things, a whole lot of things, but you couldn't call him graceful. And he wasn't particularly renowned for his upper body strength either.

"Fuck dude, even _Cartman_ can scale that wall. You're loosing your touch man."

"Shut the fuck up. Cartman has to use _winches_ and _pulleys_, much like the kind he uses to get himself out of bed every morning. I'm doing this freestyle with a drainpipe, it's hardly a fair comparison."

"You keep telling yourself that precious."

"I swear to God Stan, it's like you're fucking _trying_ to single handily destroy my self-esteem. If I end up sobbing in a corner, I'm making sure everyone knows to blame _you_."

"Awwh, you know I'm only _messing_. Come back down here and I'll give you a _cuddle_."

"Fuck you, I'm already like, half way there."

"You're like, three feet off the ground. I can lift you up higher then that. I'm pretty sure you can _jump_higher then that."

Kyle looked over his shoulder, swore, and dropped down. I just smirked, watching him rub his hands together, fighting off the cold.

"Do you want some help?"

"What? You going to let me stand on your shoulders or something? Lift me up like Simba so I can try reach the ledge?"

"Fuck no. But there's a ladder and some rope and shit behind this bush."

Kyle frowned. "No there isn't."

"Yeah there is. Come look."

Kyle padded over, frowning at the bushes. Squatting down, he pawed through the junk, pulling out lock picking kits, black face paint, a tarpaulin sized burglar outfit. Eventually pulling out an old, beat up box. "Oh my God" he dropped the Mission Impossible breaking and entering play set with a dull thump, burring his face in his arms "why the _fuck_ does Cartman have to be such a_fucking_ _freak_?"

"I dunno, I guess he just can't keep himself away you." I smirked through the vague discomfort, crossing my arms across my chest. "You sexy little ducking, you."

"For the love of Abraham, I think I'm going to hurl again."

"Well don't hurl up on me! If you're going to throw up, throw up in the bushes like a normal person."

"Fucking why? You've thrown up on _me_ before. I'd call this payback."

"Oh, come _on_. I've puked on you, like, once."

"You've done it _at least_ three times. Not to mention all the rebound I got of _Wendy_." He hissed her name like it was a dirty word. I couldn't help but smile at that.

"Oh, details, _details_ Ky, you're always so wrapped up in pointless details."

Kyle stuck out his tongue, swiping at my chest. Laughing, I caught his wrist, pulling him to his feet. "Just promise me you'll start locking your windows from now on, just to be safe."

"But think of the detrimental effect that'd have on our nighttimes adventures!"

"Dude, that just sounded _faggy_."

"Fuck you, you were the one offering to give me a cuddle a few minutes ago."

"So what? Cuddles aren't faggy. Cuddles are _comforting_. I cuddle Sparky all the time."

"Now that, _that_ sounded fucking faggy." Kyle challenged, one eyebrow quirked, a crooked grin plastered across his face.

"Careful there Ky."

"Oh, what are you going to do? Write me a poem? Throw a pride parade? Fucking _cuddle_me?"

"Dude, hell yeah I'll cuddle you. I'll cuddle the fucking fuck out of you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Do it!"

So I did. He tried to pull back, to wriggle out of my grasp, but I was stronger, I was pulling him against me, and we were down in the snow, and I was pinning him against the ground. And we were laughing, and I was loosing it. And I was kissing him, and he was clutching my ribs, kissing me back. And it was brilliant, perfect, wonderful, and I was thanking Jesus, ecstatically thanking Jesus. Kyle's tongue was swiping against mine, and I was grinding myself against him. And he was moaning against my lips.

My left hand was holding his jawline, my right furrowing under his hem. I knew people could be watching, I knew anybody could see us, but I didn't care. We were sort of hidden by Kyle's house, I was sort of lost in passion and libido. It was so easy not to think about technicalities when my tongue was brushing his alveolar ridge, when my right hand was clutching his bare, warm side, tracing across his arched stomach and delicate chest.

And suddenly realisation was crushing me with the weight of a fallen star. All this time, all this time I'd been lamenting my cowardice, all this time I'd been too scared too tell him, all this time I'd been pathetic and pussyish, all this time, all this time I'd just been being _stupid_.

Because this was _Kyle_. When it came to Kyle, I really didn't need to say _anything_.

He pulled away when the ice got too biting, breathing deeply, flushed. I drove my face into his hair, inhaling him, whimpering his name. The snow had soaked through my jeans, through my sleeves, the wetness was freezing me. Kyle was kissing my neck, still clutching at my ribs, his hands rucking up my sweater and shirt. With our chests pushed together, I could feel his pulse racing, the thick, heavy rush of his heartbeat, the think heavy pants of breath.

I pulled back, looking down at him, smiling delicately. He was gorgeous, all manic auburn and forest green and pale pinkish porcelain. The snow was wetting the ends of his hair, muting it, weighing it down, limp and loose. Damp. Always, always fucking damp. Reaching down, I caught his delicate chin, running my thumb across his high cheekbone, biting my lip as I did. He watched me, with bright eyes he watched me deftly brush him. I watched him right back, drinking him in, my heart pounding painfully against him.

Blinking, I pulled away, standing up and taking his hands, pulling him to his feet.

"C'mon Ky, let's get you to bed.

"What was that?"

I blushed, looking away from him. My flight instinct reared its head, causing my legs to twitch. It would be so easy to run again, to run and leave him standing here. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"Don't apologise. It's just… What was it?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"Just go to sleep Ky."

"Whatever."

"Don't… Not like that, I just…" I sighed, reaching out, catching his waist, resting my hand against him. A few clumps of snow clung in his hair, absently I began to brush them out. "I just don't know, yeah? I'm… I'm sorry Ky."

Kyle sighed, tilting his head away from me. "I think the ladder's our best bet."

"Rope over the third rafter. I'll be a cinch."

"You think?"

"Yeah, leverage and all that shit."

By the time I got back home, the sun was already threatening to rise. I was less precious when it came to waking my parents, taking the easy route to my bedroom, via the front door and all that. I was exhausted, my eyes were aching and my arms still throbbed. Monotonously I began to undress, dropping my damp clothes on my bedroom floor. I needed a shower, but that could wait 'til tomorrow. Heck, I needed to eat something, I was starving, but that could wait until tomorrow too.

Exhaling, I pulled on my pyjamas, collapsing onto my bed, furrowing my face into my pillows. Then I just smiled. I just fucking smiled. Because my pillows fucking smelt like Kyle.

And that was exactly the way it should be.


	13. In The Chest

An hour or so later and mom was shaking me awake. I didn't take that so well. I'm pretty sure I told her to go fuck herself. I'm pretty sure she scolded me for that. I'm pretty sure I didn't care.

"Stanley, stop it. Your little girlfriends here." She was pulling open my curtains, causing me to whimper away from the sunlight.

"Kyle?" Was all my befuddled mind could offer.

She gave me an odd look. "_Girlfriend _Stanley, _girlfriend_. Wendy's here."

My face fell. "Oh, right. Yeah. She's not my girlfriend."

"Well, she's still here."

"Just tell her I'll talk to her on Monday." I mumbled, driving my face back into my pillows, inhaling deeply. They still smelled a little bit like Kyle. Only a little bit, but most defiantly Kyle.

"Don't be rude Stanley. I'm sending her up." She was walking out the door. I was still trying to blink sleep and sun-induced blindness out my eyes.

"_Fuck_, at least give me five minutes to get _dressed_."

"_I'm sending her up Stanley_."

Cursing, I roughly made my bed, trying pathetically to smooth the creases out of my pyjamas, kicking at my still damp clothes, trying to toe them under the bed. A few moments later and I heard feet trotting up the stairs. Exhaling I crossed my arms, turning to the doorway, a slight frown creasing my face. Wendy just raised her eyebrows at me, clearly unimpressed with my loungewear. She was dressed for church already, all floaty white and fluffy lilac and shiny patent black, all heightened femininity and forced perfection. And all of it meant nothing. Because pinned Kyle down in the snow last night. That had been real perfection.

I just shrugged at her, pointedly sitting on my bed. Pointedly not offering her a seat. I played Xbox in my pyjamas with Kyle all the time; and if loungewear was good enough for him, it was good enough for her.

"What do you want Wendy?"

"I just want to talk to you Stanley."

"And we have to talk at…" I lent back, checking out my alarm clock, "Eight o'clock in the morning. Eight o'clock in the morning on a Sunday. Eight o'clock in the morning on a Sunday after a _party_?"

"Well I'm _sorry_. You left so _early _last night I didn't think I'd be waking you up."

"I was up late driving Kyle home."

Wendy snorted violently, crossing her arms across her chest in a very huffy way. "I swear to God you cosset him worse then a overenthusiastic pet owner. It wouldn't kill him to _walk_ sometimes you know."

"Like I give a crap about what you think Wendy." I huffed back at her, somewhat defensively.

"Why are you being such a _dick_ to me Stanley?"

"Why don't you just leave me _alone_, Wendy?"

"Because it's time for us get back together Stan!"

"But I _don't want_ to get back together with you Wendy!"

"Why? You've never not wanted to before."

"Well perhaps I've realised how pointless it all is!"

"Why is it pointless?"

"Because we'll only break back up again in a few months time again anyway. We always _fucking_ do!"

Wendy sighed hugging herself, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "It'll be different this time Stan. We'll buckle down, we'll stick it out. Hell, I intend to marry you one day, you know that."

My heart stalled slightly, I felt the nausea swell in my gut. "I think it's time we accepted reality Wendy."

"But _Stan_, we're… We're _Romeo and Juliet_, we're _Tristan and Isolde_. We're, I don't know, we're _Tess and Angel_."

"You can liken us to as many tragically romantic literary characters as you want Wendy, it won't change my mind." I said it softy, gently, pointedly.

She inhaled, a flush creeping up her neck. I think she realised were this conversation was headed. I think we both did. "_Is there someone else Stanley_? Is _that_ what this is all about?"

I winced, blanching slightly. "Of… of course not." I lied painfully, literally cringing at her, "I just… I just think we've reached the end now. We have to know when to call it quits."

"But Stan-"

"Fuck Wendy, _no_, let it _go_."

"Are-Are you _really_ breaking up with me Stanley?"

"Well not technically, no. I mean, we weren't really together anyway. I'm more, I'm more just saying no."

"Listen Stan, if I walk out this door, if you let me _leave_, that's _it_. You won't get another chance with me." Her voice wavered slightly. Her eyes were shining that bit too bright. It was all very uncomfortable. "We'll be through, over for _good_."

"Okay. I mean, that's kinda what I _want_ Wendy."

She let out a little whimper of frustration, before giving me the finger, running out of my bedroom in a very overdramatic fashion. I heard her leaping down the stairs, violently slamming the front door as she left. I just stared out after her, my hands clutched in my lap, my stomach churning.

"Are you aright son?" Dad stepped into the doorway, staring down the hallway after Wendy.

"Yeah dad. I'm fine." I paused, before looking up at him, smiling slightly. "Don't worry, everything's fine."

"Okay Stan. Get ready and come down for breakfast."

"Alright, I'm just going to take a quick shower. I'll be down in five minutes."

"Alright."

Exhaling, I walked over to my closet, pulling out my over pressed Sunday suit, throwing it onto my bed. Collecting my towels, I grinned, catching the sleeve of a worn forest green t-shirt, running my thumb over the fabric. Kyle's eyes were colour. Proper rich green, that sort of green you only get cut with bright, real red. They flecked with deep browns and hazels, hazels that glinted gold when they caught the light. No one else I knew had eyes that colour. They were pretty unbelievable.

If me and Wendy had been Romeo and Juliet, me and Kyle would be Odysseus and Penelope. Double up on love, cleansed of the tragedy.

God, you know you're smitten when you get moony over t-shirt.

xxx

xxx

xxx

"So you really turned her down, huh?" Kenny was leaning across the table, clutching a glass of water with both hands, the sleeves of his tacky, grubby, too big church suit rolled up to his elbows. I was picking at a stack of pancakes, smoothing syrup across the top layer, smiling slightly at my plate.

"Yeah. She didn't take it so great."

"Eh, you'll be back together again before too long. That's just how you roll."

I shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of blueberries. "Don't count on it Ken. I really think this is the end."

"Why? What makes this different from all the other times?"

"She was alright telling me to jump; I just got sick of asking 'how high?'"

Cartman was watching me with narrowed eyes, shovelling mounds of bacon and egg into his mouth, chewing disgustingly. Purposefully trying to be nauseating as possible. Not that he had to try that hard. Butters was sitting next to me, meekly poking at his waffles, watching mine and Kenny's to and fro with wide, naïve eyes. Further down the table, my dad was facilitating a mass hysteria that had formed over something pointless. I was just trying to ignore it all.

"So what are you going to do now?" Kenny was smirking slightly, tilting his half-full glass from side to side, toying with his water. "You gonna give _Dylan_ a call? I'm sure he'd just _love_ to hear from you."

I shuddered, wrinkling my nose, throwing a blueberry at him. "I think I'm alright being on my own for a bit. You know? Spend some time single." I blagged, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate.

"Well, you'll be inundated with offers come Monday, mark my words."

"How come?"

"Dude, I'm sure by now the entire student body knows. Wendy will have run to Bebe, who will have called Red and Clyde, who will have told Annie and her cousin, Token will have heard from Clyde, etcetera, etcetera. You know how it goes. Come Monday, hordes of randy girls and faggy dudes will be hurling themselves you, desperate to get a piece of the sexy pussy quarterback."

"I don't care." I told him, grinning, "I really don't care." Because I have something better, I thought to myself. Somewhat smugly, I'll admit. I didn't care. I didn't care because I had _Kyle_.

Not that I'd ever tell these guys that, mind you.

"So, what are your plans for the day, Mr. Eligible Quarterback Bachelor?"

"I think I'm just going to hang out with Kyle or something. Go home, get changed, go to see him, you know?" I murmured, gathering a forkful of pancake and blueberries. "I kinda need to tell him about Wendy anyway."

"Fucking pussies. Can't go five minutes without playing hide the hotdog, huh?" Cartman spat, talking through a mouthful of pork. I raised my eyebrows, deadpanning a look at him. He'd been surprisingly quiet all through brunch. But then this was Cartman. With Cartman, food always came before talking. Fuck, I'm pretty sure he put food before _breathing_.

Blinking, I turned my attention back to Kenny. "Why, what are you going to do?"

"Eh, me and Eric are probably going to go throw stones at cars or something. I dunno."

"Gee, that sounds romantic."

"I don't judge your date nights, you shouldn't judge mine." Kenny quipped dryly, causing Cartman to elbow him in the chest.

* * *

A/N – Bit of a whatnothing chapter, but I really like the one coming up after it (it has no smex, please don't get tootoo exited. Smex will come again soon. I think I shall bake a cake to celebrate) but I still like it. Anyhoo, thank you thank you for reading, and sticking with it this far. Hopes hopes you're enjoying the ride! And thankyouthankyou sososomuches for all the lovely, lovely reviews, they're so lovely and glitter and golden. We're like, one away from 69. We should toto celebrate when that happens. Cookies and balloons at the ready. Leave all maturity at the door.

And Savannah, heck yeah I'm a Tokio Hotel fan. They're not one of my absolute favourites (that honour goes to Motion City Soundtrack/All Time Low/Say Anything…/Taking Back Sunday, I don't know, it changes on a weekly basis because I'm a noncommittal twit like that) but I once knew a German dude who absolutely loved Tokio Hotel. I think some of his fan-love wore off on me. Still, not quite sure what I was going for with that wordthing. I think I just had writers block and so made something up. Because it's all fluffy and pillow and cool to make up words when you can't think of one you like. Sparkletwixie lovdomatic Yay! Yeah! And that 'Follow the Egg' episode is delightfully Style-relatable, just like that Super Best Friends one! =) Itch, I just can't wait for the new series. Loves loves loves!

And Happy Birthday Parapaxis! (if it's still your birthday, what with all these tricky little time zones and whatnot, if not, Happy Day After Your Birthday Parapaxis!) I'm so so glad you liked the chapter! I hope you have/had (delete as appropriate) a really awesomely great day! Loves lovesies!


	14. Of Course I Did

A few hours later and I was sitting in Kyle's basement, lounging on the staircase, watching him sort through boxes of Hanukkah stuff.

"You could, you know, _fucking help me_ Stan." Was the first thing he said to me. I just grinned at him, shifting slightly against the wood.

"I could, but I'm not going to."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Partly because I don't want to. Mostly because your mom told me not to. You're being _punished_ bubala. You need to learn that missing your curfews will _not_ be tolerated!"

Kyle glared at me over his shoulder. "If I'm being punished, why the fuck did she let you down here?"

"I asked her nicely. Really, _really_ nicely. She likes it when I ask her really, _really _nicely. I think your mom likes me."

"Oh, my mom fucking _loves_ you, Mr. Star-Quaterback-Come-Fucking-Homecoming-King-From-A-Respectable-Family. She loves you just like everyone in this godforsaken town loves you."

"What can I say? I'm fucking _wonderful_." I quipped dryly, watching Kyle kick a box across the floor.

"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

"Well, can you blame me? If you were me, you'd think a lot of yourself too."

"I'm me, and I already think a lot of myself."

"You'd think more of yourself if you were me."

"I'm pretty sure you'd think more of me if I were you."

"Eh?"

Kyle frowned, straightening up. "I'm not too sure. That one got away from me."

I just smiled, glancing round the dusty basement. "Dude, how long do you have to clean for?"

"Until it's done."

"Fuck, it's going to take you _ages_."

Kyle just glowered, rubbing his face. "Dude, I just can't believe she fucking _heard _me."

"I know, right? I mean, you were so _graceful_, you know, how you got all tangled up in the rope and fell through the window, and how you missed your bed and knocked over your bedside table. I just, I just _can't believe_ she heard that!"

"Dude, it's not funny. I thought I was going to fucking _die_."

"Awwh, you poor little _darling_."

Kyle flipped me off, glaring. I just grinned at him, watching him exhale, before gracelessly bending back over, the studs on his white belt catching the light. Glinting invitingly every time he moved. For a while I just watched him root about in a box, occasionally throwing something to one side, mostly just reorganising the household crap. After about five minutes it dawned on me I was staring fixedly at his arse, I was staring fixedly at his arse and getting hard. I yanked my gaze away and cleared my throat.

"Dude, why do you have, like, a million Jazzersteps down here?"

"I dunno. My mom got really into Step Aerobics for a while. She brought a shit ton of stuff for it, all the CD's and videos. Then she lost interest and rammed it all down here."

"No offence, but the image of your mom doing Step Aerobics will haut me to my grave."

Kyle just shuddered, walking over, gracelessly throwing himself down next to me. Clearly having a paddy and jacking in the cleaning for a while.

"You didn't see it dude. You didn't _see_ it. There's not enough eye-bleach in the world to remove those awful, _awful_ memories."

"And here I was thinking that my dad playing guitar hero in his underwear was traumatising."

Kyle pulled a face, tilting his head away. "It must be nice to have nice, normal parents, you know? Parents who don't do shit like that. It must be nice to have nice, normal, lives too."

"It's _South Park_ dude. There's no such thing as _nice_ or _normal_ here."

"I know. At least it's never boring. I guess."

"Yeah. And at least we'll always have each other, to, you know, provide reprieve from the insanity."

"Oh, you delightful little faggot you, you do flatter me _so_."

"Hey, you're the one always whining at me to be nicer to you."

"I don't _whine_."

"Except yeah, you do."

"Screw you."

I quirked my eyebrows, deadpanning him a look. "Is that an offer?"

Kyle just snorted, backhanding my shoulder. After a slight pause, Kyle sighed, frowning across the basement. "Perhaps I should take up Step Aerobics? I could save all this shit from the dump."

I snorted. "If you do, you have to promise you'll let me watch."

"Why the fuck would you want to watch?"

"Dude, with your sense of rhythm? It'd be fucking hilarious!"

Kyle dismissed me with a delightful throaty growl, flipping me the bird for good measure.

"I'm not going to clout about in front of you just so you can have a good laugh _Stan_. I'll probably just use them down here. In the dead of night. With all the doors locked. And all the windows blacked out."

I balked. "Dude, you're not seriously going to use them, right?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because with your sense of rhythm you'd probably fall off and break your fucking neck! Don't be stupid."

Kyle pulled a face. "Dude, just because I'm rhythmically challenged doesn't mean I lack basic motor functions. Give me some credit."

"Why the fuck do you want to use them anyway?"

He shrugged, eyes still fixed on the Jazzersteps. "I need the exercise."

I snorted derisively. "No you don't. You're gorgeous and you know it."

In the dim light of the basement, I watched Kyle flush.

"You think I'm gorgeous?" He turned to look at me, his eyes bright and wide.

I cleared my throat. "I know you're gorgeous Ky."

For a minute we were both silent, just lounging on the staircase, staring intently at each other with impressively pathetic pathos.

"Stan, what you said yesterday, did you mean it?"

"Dude, I said a lot of things yesterday. I meant a lot of them too."

"When you said-said you wouldn't get back with Wendy. Did you mean it?"

I swallowed hard, glancing away. "Yeah Ky, I meant it. She came to see me this morning, to try get back on, you know? And I-I… I kinda broke up with her. For good and all that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she didn't take it so well. It was all _very_ awkward."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why was it awkward?"

He bit his lip, flushing slightly. "Why would you break up with her? You've been dating her since Pre-K."

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Dude, just _because_. Because."

He swallowed, looking at his hands, worrying with the hem of his t-shirt. "So you won't get back with her?"

"Dude, I won't get with anyone. Not if you don't want me to." He was looking down, still unconvinced, still worried. I just sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Ky, you're my best friend. You're…" I trailed off, gesturing lamely.

Because what was he? Kyle was my best friend, he was my Super Best Friend, but after that night in Denver, after all the shit we'd done to each other, he was something else. Something different. He wasn't my boyfriend, there was something too coy and forced about that term, too brittle and unapproachable, it wasn't right, wasn't ready. No, he wasn't my boyfriend. To call him my fuck-buddy would be too callous; he wasn't going to be some number I called up when I was feeling horny. He wasn't just a fuck to me. He wasn't my boyfriend, he wasn't my fuck-buddy. He was my best friend, my best friend who'd straddled me on Route 285. My best friend who I'd fucked. What he was to me was something lost in the cotton wool of diction, something linty and intangible. Something new and unapproachable. Something perfect.

"You're the most important person in the world to me." I finished up, honest and truthful, staring intently into his wide, tired eyes. "I'll do _anything_ to make you happy."

For a while he just stared at me, wide eyed and pale. I just stared right back at him, stony faced and serious. Then he was kneeling over me, one hand on my chest, one hand on my shoulder. Then he was pushing his lips against mine, and I was holding him steady, keeping him safe. I was pushing my own lips back against his, smiling against his mouth. It wasn't like the kiss I'd pulled him into at the concert, the one he'd graced upon me in the car, the one we'd shared in the snow. It was soft and gentile, chaste, no tongues, no groping.

It was a contract. Signed, sealed and delivered.

Reassuringly I rubbed his side, and he squeezed my shoulder back. And after, what, a minute, an hour, I have no idea, he pulled back. I pressed another kiss against his cheek, his neck, his lips, firm and fleeting, before letting him go.

Silently he sat back down next to me, carefully lowering himself onto the steps, carefully glancing up at me. I just grinned down at him, before shutting my eyes and leaning back against the wood.

"So what am I going to do with all this Jazzercise shit them?"

I frowned slightly.

"We should probably give it all to Cartman. He really does need the exercise."

Kyle lit up. "Oh God yes. We could wrap it all up and give it to him for Christmas! That way I get rid of the junk in the basement and we don't have to by him a present! It's fucking _win-win_!"

I laughed, grinning across at him. "Kyle, my little ray of sunshine, you're a perfect little bitch."

"Please, you know you love it."

My lip quirked.

Because of course I did.

* * *

A/N – I think chapter might be in fluff-zone, but oh well yay! Thank you all for reading reading reading, hope it's all goodley, and super extra special uber thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. I toto have fluffy little joyburst moments every time I get e-mail notification for me to read, j'adore it!

And Savannah, Germany shouldn't be embarrassed because of TH. I mean, Bill Kaulitz's hair, it like, _defies gravity_. Producing someone whose hair defies gravity is a feat to be proud of, regardless of the music he plays =P Loves loves lovely.

And Hoppin'OnBalls, of course we can be friends. Friends are fluffy and (candyfloss) awesome =) And Kenny suspects, but he's in denial. He just thinks Stan's all upset about Wendy (or he doesn't care, or a little mixture of both! Yay!) Oh yes yes yes! Loves loves lovesit.


	15. The Cupboard Door

Kyle was pressing his thigh against mine. He was lunged across the lunch table, furiously arguing about something stupid with Cartman. He was seconds away from throwing a full-on bitch fit, but I didn't care. I didn't care he was whipped up into a frenzy, I didn't care they'd been arguing all day, I didn't care because in his angry excitement he was driving his thigh firmly into mine. And I was kind of enjoying that.

"I could jump more then you could Jew!

"Oh, just shut up! I don't give a _shit_. You couldn't even jump to a _conclusion_ fatass!"

Kenny just sighed, picking at his very pathetic looking lunch. He was trying his hardest to ignore them.

"Ay! Watch your filthy mouth kike! I'm not fat, I'm _buff_!"

Kyle bristled, inadvertently rubbing his leg against mine. "Buff? Dude, you make _manatees_ look like fucking _supermodels_."

"He has a point there dude." I reasoned, taking a bite out of my apple, pushing my thigh back against Kyle's.

"You know what? Screw you guys, I'm going _home_."

"Good! Try not to get wedged in the doorway as you leave!"

Cartman just huffed, glaring at Kyle, before he pulled himself to his feet and clomped gracelessly towards the exit. Leaving his mess of lunch remains scattered across the table, for, you know, decoration or something. Kyle flipped off his retreating back, a slight flush colouring his cheeks. After a moments silence, I reached up, touching a hand to his shoulder, causing him to start slightly.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." For a second he just glowered at the doorway, pulling his hand roughly through his hair. Then he just blinked, sat back down, and turned to face me. He was smiling slightly, placidly, all Kyle. "Hey dude, you want to hang out tonight?"

"Sure. Why?"

"My parents are up in New York protesting cuss words or smut or lads' mags or whatever, I dunno. Mom left some rancid fish thing for dinner. I really have no intention on eating it."

"Okay. Once I'm done with practice I'll drive you to Denny's."

He wrinkled his nose. "Does it have to be Denny's? Can't we go to Burger King or KFC or something?"

"We can go _wherever_ you want Ky."

"You indulge him too much Stan."

I started slightly, glancing up at Kenny. He was watching us disinterestedly, absently squishing a chunk of bread against the table top. I'd sort of forgotten he was there.

"Maybe. But I've got nothing better to do."

"I'm sure that's not true. You could do your homework, or you could play some ball, or play some videogames. You could walk that faggy mutt of yours. You have plenty to do."

"Oh, hush up Kenny. I wanna go to _Burger King_!" Kyle grinned, clasping his hands on the tabletop. Still pressing his thigh against mine.

Kenny just rolled his eyes. "Am I still banned from your car Stanny-boy?"

"Yup! I'm not over your _insolence_ yet." And I want alone time with Kyle. I really love alone time with Kyle.

"Jeez Stan, I got over you _abandoning me on the highway_. I think it's time you stopped being a massive pussy and get over me insulting your car."

"Dude, you nicknamed her _Fuggo Uggo_. That's just _mean_."

Next to me Kyle sighed, tapping his leg against mine. "Dude, are you done yet?"

"In a minute, yeah."

"Just hurry up."

"What's the rush?"

Kyle gripped a handful of my sweater, tugging at it. It was a pretty redundant move. Slightly cute, but redundant. I mean, he was sitting right next to me; we were part way through a conversation. I was _already_ paying attention to him.

"I want to go to the library."

"What do you want to go to the library for? We spent an hour in the library this morning."

"I want more books."

"You have enough books."

"No I don't. Dude, just _come_ _with me_."

"God you're being _demanding_ today. Perhaps I do indulge you too much."

"Oh, that's just lovely." Kyle pulled himself to his feet, angrily snatching up his bag. "You know, I think I'll just go to the library by _myself_ Stan."

It slowly dawned on me that the "library" might actually be somewhere I really wanted to go. Like, really, _really_ wanted to go. Reaching up, I grabbed the hem his jumper, pulling him back.

"Don't be like that Kyle. I'll go to the library with you."

"Oh, don't worry yourself Stan; I'd just _hate_ to put you out!" He huffed bitterly, trying to untangle my fingers, trying to free his sweater. I just tightened my grip, smiling innocently up at him.

"C'mon, let me go to the _library_ with you."

"Look Kyle, do you just want me to come to the library with you?" Kenny asked obliviously, pulling the crusts off his bread sandwich. Kyle just blinked, I glanced across at him.

"No, it's okay, you finish your lunch. Stan'll come with me."

Kenny rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I swear to God if pointless bickering was an Olympic event you two would take gold."

I just smiled sarcastically at him, grabbing my bag with one hand snatching up my tray with the other. Kenny shrugged disinterestedly back, still dismantling his pitiful slice of bread, still squashing it against the tabletop.

I'm growing to love the old sports equipment cupboard. I'm growing to love it a _lot_. Kyle wedged the door shut with a broken springboard (Cartman's latest victim), carefully checking it was secure. I just gripped his jumper, pulling him open, pinning him against a broken pommel horse. I was kissing him, quick and wet, and he was kissing me so wonderfully back. My hands were ghosting up his sides, gripping him, kneading him. He was clutching me back, his hands on my shoulders, gripping the fabric of my jumper, clutching me closer.

"Do you think we're being stupid?"

I caught his face with one hand, pressing a kiss against his jaw line. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think we're being stupid, you know, doing this _here_?"

I laughed slightly, my hands rucking their way under layers of fabric, gripping at his soft waist. "I know we're being stupid. But fuck Kyle, I swear to God, if you stop now…" I caught his mouth, kissing him hard and fast, all tongues and saliva. He just moaned against me, clutching at my sweater.

"God, you're a bit eager."

I laughed, biting softly at his jugular. "I just can't get enough Ky."

"Hey dude," he was murmuring slightly, nuzzling at my neck, "what happened to that notebook?"

"What notebook?" I murmured between kisses.

"That one you were going all Raven over. The one you were writing nothing in."

"Oh, yeah. That notebook." I pulled down his collar, biting wetly at his shoulder. Kyle whimpered, clutching at my back. "Nothing happened to it. I just found something _better_ to do." I punctuated my point with a wet nip to his shoulder and a firm grid, eliciting a very lovely moan.

"Really? What?"

I paused, my mouth inches from his jugular, deadpanning him a look. My hands were still ferreted under his shirt, plastered to his waist, our hips were still driven together. "You have your dense moments Ky."

He frowned, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "What do you mean? I _do not_ have _dense_ moments."

"Oh Kyle, just _shut up_." I caught his mouth with a kiss, firm and strong, drowning the complaints he might have had. Kyle responded with verve, his hands gripping, pushing my shoulders. Then I was on the floor, my back to the wall, and he was kneeling over my lap, kissing me messily. He was exited, that much I could tell. I could feel him digging into my hipbone. I just grinned against him, peppering kisses across his neck.

After ten minutes he pulled away, pulling himself upright, panting slightly, wiping his mouth with his cuff.

"I've got calculus."

"Can't you just _skip_?"

"Not really."

"_Please_?"

Reaching down, Kyle caught me in a kiss, firm and fast. "_No_."

With that he pulled himself up, patting down his hair, brushing off his clothes. I reached up, carefully brushing his jumper smoothing out the creases, smoothing away the evidence, the evidence of my ferreting and clutching. Kyle smiled at me, before murmuring a goodbye. I just grinned at him, leaning back against the wall, crossing my arms over my knees, watching him creep out the cupboard door.

* * *

A/N – Sorry chapter is little shortarse, I have little bout of writers block for some reason. Either writers block or uber distracting cat. He's oldcat now and has kitty- Alzheimers and keeps on getting lost in the hallway for some reason. And he likes to sit by my bed and watch me and make me feel bad for not petting him allthetime. Damn I love my cat. And going off on tangents. Oh well, there's only, about only like two chapters left (and mayhaps a little epilogue), then its all donedonedone and dusty dusted, so ayeaye candyfluff. Anyhoo, thank you so so much for reading and I hope you like it and thank you so much so so so so much for reviewing they're so lovely and wonderful and amazing just thank you so much thank you. Loves loves lovesit!

And Ludo. I was talking about favourite bands a few chapters back and I missed Ludo. That was silly of me. I really love Ludo.

And Savannah, wow, epic CD colleting, pretty wonderfully awesome =D And oh, the lion mane will always be the pinnacle of hair excellence. I just like to pretend he still has the lion mane, that he'll always have the lion mane. But the dreads were lovely too, but I just love poofy, fluffy things! Yay yay! Loves loves lovely!


	16. Straddling Me Again

It should have felt weirder then it did, that much was certain. We just kind of slipped into it, scheduled it into our regular routine, those gropes in the closet, the fumbles in the car. The violent kisses slammed up against locked doors. We brushed close to doing _it_ again, dangerously close, but something always stopped us: Ike calling for his brother, my dad calling for me, Kenny calling Kyle, football practice, calculus lessons, social obligations, curfews. Cartman trying to burn something down.

But it was normal. This impossible, wonderful thing was, well, _normal_. We didn't call it anything, we didn't tell anyone, because really, what was there to say? This thing, it just, it just happened.

I'm sure it was obvious, if anyone ever looked really hard, I'm sure it would have been obvious; the excuses we made, the sudden absences, the sudden influx of time we spent alone. I mean, we already spent a shit-ton of time alone before, we just upped the ante a bit. But no-one noticed. On the outside, to the rest of the world, we acted normal. Everyone knew about what had happened between me and Wendy, that news had spread like wildfire. Within a few days Wendy had gone off with Token, or Craig, or, I dunno, someone else. I guess everyone just blamed our weird behaviour on _that_. We just never bothered to correct them.

I was leaning back against Kyle's headboard, clutching a Gamesphere controller to my chest, my eyes fixed on the screen. I'd been playing none stop for about an hour now, and I was extremely close to levelling up. Kyle was leaning back against me, his head nuzzled against my shoulder, a book clutched in his lap. He was frowning petulantly down at a page, clearly unimpressed with whatever it was telling him. It was sort of adorable really.

Smiling slightly, I hammered several buttons, clearing the final warehouse with a bright plume of fire, impressively blazing a dozen or so zombies (and, accidentally, one elderly lady. But she didn't really matter, and it didn't really effect my score, so whatever). Smugly, I paused the game, glancing self-righteously down at Kyle. Expecting some sort of praise or commemoration, or, I don't know, vague celebration in the wake of my zombie massacre.

He wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to me though. He was still frowning down at his page, his head still nuzzled against me.

"Dude, are you okay?"

He blinked, glancing up at me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been reading that same page for, like, half an hour. There's only so much you can learn about chromosomes."

"There are a million and one things I could learn about chromosomes."

"Not from that book there's not."

Kyle just smiled weakly, shutting the book with a soft snap, dropping it off his lap. "I've just been thinking Stan."

"About chromosomes? You really shouldn't worry yourself with those, trust me. Yours are all perfect."

"No, I'm not worried about chromosomes. I've been thinking… About, about us."

I bit the inside of my cheek, dropping the controller on Kyle's duvet, dropping it next to his book. Things were wonderful as is, I really didn't want him worrying or questioning or, God forbid, _stopping_. I really just wanted him happy and contented, protected and safe. Occasionally shirtless. I really just wanted things to stay like this, normal to everyone else, wonderful behind closed doors. I really just wanted, well, _him_.

"You really shouldn't worry yourself with us either, Ky."

Kyle raised his eyebrows, sitting up straight, turning to face me. He had a slightly concerned, slightly bemused look on his face. "Well, what should I be worrying myself with?"

"You should worry about the environment. You should worry about penguins, about baby cows, about polar bears, about the little male chicks that get culled. About whales, or kids in Africa. You know, generically tragic things, things that suck, but are impossible for one man to fix. Things you can forget about when you need to."

"You're forgetting something."

"What?"

"The fact that I'm not a massive pussy? I really don't give two shit about all your eco stuff."

"Awwh, that's not true. You like whales. Remember Willzyx?"

"Of course I remember Willzyx. But that was different."

"Why?"

"Because I liked _that_ whale."

"So? What's to stop you liking the other whales? Trust me, whales are epic. They once attacked a boat for me. That was cool."

"It-I-Look, it doesn't matter. Stan, I think… I think we need to talk."

I felt my insides jar slightly. Those words had never boded well for me in the past. Bad things always happened when Wendy wanted to talk. I bit at my cheek again, wrinkling my nose. "Talking's overrated."

"Maybe. I still think we need to do it."

For a moment I wondered of I could get away with just kissing him. It had worked in the past, a firm swipe of the tongue telling him to shut up, telling him to just move on. But Kyle was really serious this time. If I tired surprise kissing him he might kick me. And I really didn't want him to kick me; Kyle had powerful little thighs, he could really fucking kick when he wanted too.

"There are _other_ things we could do." I still hinted hopefully, reaching out towards him.

Kyle just caught my wrists, giving me a look. "Please Stan. Can we just talk about this for a moment? You… You were the one who wanted me to talk about this." I just sighed, dropping my hands, crossing my arms across my chest. "What's wrong Ky?" I asked him softly, my eyes wide and concerned. "Do… Do you want us to stop, well, _it_?"

"Fuck no!"

"Well what? Do you want us to _come out_ then?"

"Christ no! Do _you_?"

"Not particularly, I think it might make things really quite awkward. But I will if you want to, no worries."

"Stan, no!"

"Kyle, what's _wrong_ then?"

He frowned, eyes fixed on the blanket. "I just… I just want to know what'll happen to us, what happens to us if you decide to run off with someone else?"

"Won't happen. For as long as you want me, that won't happen."

"But what if it _does_?"

"It _won't_."

"But what about Wendy?"

I tensed my jaw, sitting up slightly straighter. "I think me and Wendy are over now. Regardless of _whatever_ we're doing, me and Wendy are over. For good, and all that."

"What about Dylan then?"

"What about him?"

"What if-"

"Just no, dude, _no_."

"Well, what about Heather?"

"Dude, I don't even know Heather! Ky, please, you're being _stupid_."

Kyle huffed slightly, narrowing his eyes. "Thanks Stan, yeah, I'm stupid. That's _really_ what I want to hear right now! Fuck dude, just, just fuck."

"I never said you _were_ stupid. I said you were _being_ stupid."

"Same difference."

"No, it's _not_." I paused slightly, pulling a face. I really wasn't entirely sure how to handle insecurities. "Look, dude, just, just wait," I stood up, lifting my hand up, spreading my fingers out, "just wait there for a second."

Kyle just sighed, clutching his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms. I just watched him for a second, gently rubbing his shoulder, before stepping across the room. Crouching down I dug through my bag, pushing aside the mess of pens and textbooks and notebooks and bottles and scraps of paper. I didn't know why I was still carrying it around. I guess I thought it was safer then leaving it lying about somewhere, especially with Cartman being the intrusive, privacy disregarding prick he was.

"Here."

Kyle lifted his head up, watching as I dropped the notebook onto his lap. For a moment he just blinked down at it, his arms still latched across his chest.

"So nothing's become something, huh?"

"Nothing became everything."

Kyle sighed, righting the book, letting it fall open on his lap. He got about five pages in before he stopped reading it properly. He flipped past another twenty or so before he stopped fully, just, frowning down at my scrawls.

"Stan, what _is_ this?"

"It's everything. It's everything I want to say, everything I wish I'd said. Everything I was desperate to do." I paused, brooding darkly. "It's everything I need to tell you. Everything."

Kyle gaped. "But this is, like, fifty pages of-" I held up my hand, stopping him. I knew exactly what it was, it was fifty pages of extreme faggotry. It was, perhaps, the most pathetic and rambling love note ever written.

"Kyle, _please_ don't worry about this, yeah? I… I adore you. I fucking adore you."

Next thing I knew, he was straddling me again.

* * *

A/N – Sorry sorry chapter so so short and awkward, but it was tricky filler thing and easier to bridge it this way, and have the next chapter (the final chapter, not including the epilogue, which I have yet to decide whether to include or not so I don't know) slightly longer. So urgh and yay or something! I dunno! Anyhoo, thank you thank you so so much for reading, hope you're enjoying it! Thank you thank you so so so much for reviewing and faving and all sorts of lovely wonderful things, so candyflossing awesome!

P.S. I got sent my first Fanart the other day! Links links on my profile! You should really, really go check it out!


	17. It Was All Perfect

There's a reason people fuck on beds, let me tell you. The expanse of mattress, the springs and leverage, the tension and resistance: it's a fucking dancefloor when you use it right.

And Christ, Kyle could use it right.

He was clutching at me, his hands jammed up under my t-shirt, trying to get it off. I shifted slightly, facilitating his disrobing endeavour, grinding my hipbones against his in the process; one of my hands was fumbling with his belt buckle, his fly, the waistband of his jeans desperate to unclasp it, unzip it, desperate to just get them off him. My other hand was locked against his jaw, tracing his perfect, pointy chin, his regal, high cheekbones, positioning his face, keeping him steady. Our mouths were locked together in some very wet, very uncoordinated fight, all tongues and saliva, sheer delight, complete ecstasy.

He was humming against me, shaking with anticipation and adrenaline, kneeling over me, heavily pressing himself against me. My hands were ghosting across his side, down his thighs, round his back, gripping at him, trying to pull him closer then he already was, trying to pull him closer then physically possible. I felt myself deepen the kiss, clutching Kyle's against me with one hand, the other now hungrily fumbling under Kyle's jumper, pushing up the hem, brushing his soft, warm skin.

"Dude" he was biting at my jugular, causing me to gasp, "dude, what about your mother?"

"Oh _Christ_ Stan, _please_ don't ruin this for me."

"No, I mean, what if-"

"They won't. They're out. Now _shut up_."

I quirked my eyebrow, pausing so I could look at him. "Well, look at you, lusty _and_ snappy."

"Oh, _fuck_ Stan, just _shut up_." He whined it, forcing himself against me in a very, very brilliant way.

Grinning, I pushed myself against him, tugging up base of his jumper, the base of his t-shirt, tugging them off, desperate to free his pale, gentle chest. He shifted out of it, ducking, lithely wriggling as I stripped him bare. Then I was pushing him against the headboard, tracing kisses up his prefect, pale little chest, nuzzling and nipping him, panting with anticipation and excitement. My hands were glued to his hips, my fingers pressing indents into his skin, undoubtedly pressing that fraction too hard. Undoubtedly going to bruise him. But in the pulse of passion, lust, gripping, in the midst of what we were doing, fuck did either of us care.

Kyle was flushing, moaning, but he was also whispering something too, something that sounded a lot like "Annie ohair otter". I didn't really hear him, or get a chance to ask for a clearer enunciation before he began nipping at my shoulder, clamping his mouth over his pale skin and sucking like his life depended on it. One of my hands found its way into Kyle's fluffy mass of hair, my fingers tangling themselves amongst the auburn knots as I buried his face into Kyle's neck, inhaling him, kissing him.

After a few moments he wriggled back, pulling away, lunging off the side of his bed; I whimpered, burying my face into his side, feeling him gasp as I trailed a line of hickies from the nick of his waist to the curve of his hipbone. Then Kyle sat back up with a handful of hypoallergenic moisturiser.

And then nothing stopped us, not this time: no parents, no calls, no obligations, no class, no Kenny, no Cartman, no nothing. We just kind of did it, you know? With the ominous screams still blaring from the paused zombie apocalypse, with Kyle's book thumping heavily onto the floor, with his little reading lamp still emitting a sorry orange glow. It was easier with the freedom of a mattress, the leverage of a headboard, far easier then the lissom positioning needed to negotiate the boxy confines of a two decade old Chevy Impala.

The soft cobwebs of the afterglow were lulling me to sleep. Kyle was furrowing himself against me, burying his face into the crook of my neck, haphazardly lying across me. It was an impossibly close fit, both of us glued together on his narrow little bed, but neither of us cared. Kyle murmured something into my neck, pressing a kiss against my throat. I just grinned, wrapping an arm round his back, pressing him firmly against me.

xxx

xxx

xxx

I was woken up a few hours later when someone punched me, quite hard, in the shoulder. Cursing, I pulled myself up, immediately balking when I saw Ike standing there, shadowed in darkness, haloed by the light in the hallway. He was glaring at me with a stern expression plastered across his face. For a moment I just stared at him, completely at a loss of what to do. He just looked impudently back at me, one eyebrow quirked.

"Christ Stan, took you long enough." I just stared at him, trying to blink sleep out of my eyes, trying to blink the fuzz out of my mind. He crossed his arms, pursing his lips. "Nevertheless, thank you."

"For what?" I croaked out blearily.

"For _fixing_ Kyle."

I glanced down, blinking bewilderedly. I was sitting in Kyle's bed, haphazardly buried in his blankets. I was also still pretty clothes-less, which was simultaneously both mortifying, and pretty incriminating, I must admit.

"This isn't what it looks like." I lied thickly. "I just needed to-"

He held up his finger, giving me a condescending look. "Please Stan, just, just don't even try talk your way out of this one. For both our sakes, I beg you."

I pulled a face, glancing away from him. "Are you going to-"

"I love my brother Stanley, no matter how much of a retard he may be. I love my brother, and I'm not going to do anything to upset him."

"Alright. Thank you." I just exhaled, rubbing my hand across my face, dropping back against the mattress. "Where's Kyle?"

"He's out on the porch."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

For a second Ike just stood there, biting at his lip. Then he exhaled, and padded out the room, shutting the door with a snap behind him. I just sighed, pulling myself to my feet, sifting through the slight mess in Kyle's room, searching for something to wear.

It was snowing again, fast and thick, the merciless, unyielding onslaught of another South Park winter that refused to let up. It would be horrendous in the morning, the ice and slush and new, deep snow would make for awful driving conditions. If it kept up like this all night, I'd have to get up early to dig my car out of Kyle's driveway. That wouldn't be a pleasant job, but then it never was. At least Kyle would help me. He always fucking helped me.

At this time of night the entire town was dead, the only detectable movements were created by the shifting shadows, the mottling effects cast by the moon, shaped by clouds. Occasionally some unfortunate animal left outside to face the elements would dance across the horizon, pausing, flitting across the icy landscape.

And Kyle was there; he was sitting on the edge of the patio, his thick, dark coat pulled roughly over his pyjamas, the hems of his faded plaid lounge pants roughly jammed into his heavy boots. He'd pulled his hood up for warmth, warmth and protection from the biting, sharp wind that dusted him with snow, gently catching and stirring the corners of his jacket, blowing creases in his clothing, playfully flicking at the ends of his manic hair. He had one leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on his knees, his narrow chin cupped delicately in his hand. In the shadowed, muted moonlight, the dim, buzzing porch light, he looked ethereal, brilliant and regal. He looked perfect.

Exhaling I shut the back door with a snap behind me, causing him to start and twist round, smiling faintly through the darkness. Quirking my lip back, I stepped across the patio, my own boots following the indents made by Kyle, dropped myself down next to him. Biting my lip, I pressing my thighs together, wrapping my arms around my waist, half-heartedly bracing myself against the cold.

For a while we just stared across his garden, looking past the houses, past the snow and suburbia, past civilisation, past South Park, our gaze fixed on the blurry, obscured, snow capped peaks of the Rockies. Our shoulders were pressed together, our thighs touching. We were sitting hip to; I could feel the reassuring warmth of him radiate though the pattering of his coat, the slight, gentle sequence of his breathing rhythmically matched to mine.

"Dude, what happens next?"

I looked at him, bright, wide eyes, chewing on his lip. I looked at him and I smiled.

"I don't know. But dude, we'll be fine, yeah? We'll always be fine, no matter what."

Smiling, smiling properly, honest and brilliant, he nodded, clutching his hands in his lap. I grinned right back, reaching across and catching his wrist. Slowly he unfurled his hands, letting my fingers slip through his, tightening his grip and pushing our palms together.

So there we were, sitting on his porch, grinning at each other, holding hands. It was faggy, it was painfully, painfully fucking faggy. It was confusing and uncertain. But it was perfect. Just then, everything, life, the world, the universe, it was all perfect.

* * *

A/N – So, there we go. The epilogue [whups, Freudian slip, you'll see] will be coming soon (like, tomorrow, or the day after soon), but that's it from the main story. I do hope you enjoyed it, thank you so so much for reading, and for sticking with it so long. Thank you for all the faves, and super duper massive major lovely awesome thank you thank you thank yous for the lovely, amazingly wonderful reviews. They truly are so pillow warm and candyfloss awesome.

I can't believe they breached the centennial. That really did explode my little mind. Epically awesomely fluffily exploded my mind.

I mean, I had a hard time comprehending it when they breached double figures.

So wow.

Just, like, wow.

Loves loves lovesit lovely loves. Yeah.

P.S. Annie ohair otter = Ani ohev otcha. Just in case you were wondering, you know? Sparkle loves lovesit.


	18. A Different Kind Of Tiring

"You know dude, I don't think anything has ever failed as hard as you're failing right now."

"Trust me Stan, nothing could ever fail as hard as your face."

Kyle pulled the ancient, cracked Gamesphere controller into his chest as he bounced about anxiously, shaking the old, beat up sofa, desperate to activate a very unwilling combo move.

"Not even your face?"

"Of course not, my face is _epic_. My face _epitomises_ epic. Tales of my epic face echo across the land. People write _odes _about how epic my face is."

"Your face isn't epic; whoever told you that was lying."

"Jealousy is an ugly colour on you Stanley. I know we can't all have my Godlike good looks, but do try to be gracious about it."

"Godlike good looks? Dude, you have your mother's nose."

And with those deeply offensive words, Stan mashed several buttons furiously and watched his character kick his opponents head clean off. Not that it mattered, Kyle had dropped the controller and turned indignantly towards Stan the second his nose had been brought into the scrap.

"Too mean dude, take it back. I do _not_ have my mother's nose."

Stan just grinned at his characters victory, puffing out his chest in slightly melodramatic pride. "No way, I know the truth hurts, but dude, you just have to deal with it graciously."

Kyle slitted his eyes, balling his fists with a foreboding hiss of "Deal with _this_ graciously."

"You know, I actually really hope those two never realise they can fuck." Kenny murmured softly into his coffee, his eyes fixed on the two wriggling figures fighting for dominance on his couch.

Across the dining room table, Butters stopped chewing on his Pop Tart, his eyes widening in surprise. "B-buh-but Kenny, everyone says they're meant to be together 'till the end of space and time and stuff."

"They're just joking Butters."

"I d-don't know Ken-"

"_They're just joking Butters_."

Butters just lowered his gaze, carefully brushing the crumbs from his Pop Tart into a neat, geometric pile. Something about his silent, disbelieving acceptance really irked Kenny. "Kyle and Stan _aren't _going to fuck Butters. They're both way too naïve, and way too _straight_ for that." He said it quietly, firmly, addressing his coffee cup over his companion. He was trying to reassure himself more then anything, trying to convince himself that perhaps, just perhaps if he said it often enough, if he pretended he believed it, it would somehow become _true_.

Butters bit his lip, tracing his fingers across the old, chipped tabletop, catching the last of the Pop Tart crumbs. Kenny just pulled a face; it really was a feeble endeavour. His house was already a complete shit hole, a few crumbs of pastry were nothing but grains in a desert.

"I w-wouldn't be so sure Kenny. I mean, nothing's impossible, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. It's just that if those two ever realise they _can actually _stop being two separate beings and join together into one, I don't think they'll ever disconnect. Every time I see them they'll have the others dick inserted into one of their orifices. It might get tiring after a while."

Kenny stomach lurched as he watched Kyle straddle Stan. He didn't like that. No, he really didn't like that. Something about that made him feel very, very wrong. And very, very lonely.

He clenched his jaw. He very much wanted Stan to leave Kyle alone now. He really very much wanted that. Sighing, Butters glanced at Kenny, concern pulling down the corner of his lip.

"Buh-because _this_ i-isn't tiring?"

Kenny blinked, before smiling feebly into his coffee, pushing the cup against his cold cheek. Across the room, all five foot five of Kyle was kneeling on all six foot whatever of Stan, mercilessly punching him in his broad shoulders. Stan didn't seem to mind however, he was too busy using the fight as an excuse to caress Kyle's ribs. Kenny's chest constricted.

"I guess it'll be a different kind of tiring, Butters."

* * *

A/N – (Ohoh, sorry it's so short. It was actually a scene I wrote for _No One Ever Said That Life Was Fair_, but I never found the right time to use it. So you see what I did there? OhGodSorry sorry oy. Feel free to shoot me.)

So there we go. All done, all dusty dusted. A cherry blossom tree of thank you's to everyone who saw it through, I really hope I didn't disappoint. A whole entire sakura orchard to everyone who reviewed with such lovely wonderful things, who kept with it and stuck it out, you really make writing things like this an absolute _absolute_ joy. Loves loves lovely loves!

P.S. The things that's coming next (which might be a little way away as it's assessment time at uni so ohgodshootmenowplz) is a bit different. It's not _Carnival_ (that's still cooking), it's more Style. But aged up. More then usual. To like, thirty or something. So yeah.

Yeah.

KyandiFlüss.

And Savannah, whupsy, thank you! And sorry about that that! I had a little glance over that last chapter and changed some of the "all this and whatevers" into new shiny bright bright things. I guess I'm just liking "all" at the moment, it's like, my new word of the week! Heyho heyho!

As for Eric/Mrs. B smex, perhaps, perhaps one day the world will be ready. Perhaps one day there will be enough eye bleach, enough eye bleach for everyone! =P Still, until next time, farewell! Loves loves loves.


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